The Ghosts, The Walls, The Dreams
by FromTheClouds
Summary: In an impulsive decision to save a friend, a chemist makes a lucrative deal with The Saviors, and eventually ends up in Alexandria with Rick's group. Negan takes an interest in her activities there, intrigued by her experience and personality. Cecelia is only interested in the safety of her closest friend, numb after the tragic death of her husband. ON HAITUS
1. Chapter 1

Cecelia wasn't sure how long she'd spent walking at the brisk pace that was beginning to burn her lungs and make her joints sore. Hilltop had made her weak. She'd been so used to moving around, going from constantly moving to nearly nothing in a matter of days, spending a month virtually inactive, barely venturing outside. The crunch of leaves behind her assured her Francis was following closely behind, but she dared not to look back to where she was sure The Saviors were still watching. It wouldn't be much longer until she was out of their sight.

After what seemed like ages, they made it into the woods, unscathed. Only once she was past the treeline and stepped into a clearing did she turn back to Francis, who had paused behind her.

"Here," she said, finding the tree stump with the hallowed inside she had hid what little valuable things she owned, producing his gun and knife. Francis accepted them without a word, as she expected, glancing nervously behind them. He placed the gun in the holster at his hip, the knife on the opposite side of his belt. "You're okay?" she asked him, and he nodded, pushing his fingers through his gleaming chestnut hair that was nearly matted to his forehead. As his fingers brushed his wavy locks back, Cecelia noticed the large gash over his eyebrow, likely to need stitches. Blood trickled down past his eyes and down his cheek. She didn't want to know what had been done to him, and she doubted he'd tell her. She just knew Dr. Carson would be able to take care of it.

"Thank you," he said softly, in the gentle and smooth voice she rarely heard. She nodded, moving towards him to embrace him, pressing her lips to the hallow below his high cheekbone. He returned the embrace, his arms tight around her for a moment before she was able to step back. The sound of twigs snapping underfoot woke her from her somewhat un-alert state, and she turned towards the noise, realizing unfortunately that she had been so hasty to check on Francis' condition that she hadn't armed herself, and was distracted. The click of a gun being cocked behind her reassured her that Francis had her back, however, as she surveyed the people in front of her, she realized they were surrounded.

There was silence, and she looked at the two men directly in front of her, one with dark, long hair, clad in distressed leather and denim, and the other with piercing blue eyes and and a blue button down, his curly brown hair tucked behind his ears. There was a woman with dreadlocks and some sort of a sword raised, ready to fight. The weapon was elegant, but not exactly practical in their current situation.

"What were you doing back there?" The cleaner-looking man asked, though who was she kidding, no one ever really looked clean. They could be Saviors, she didn't know, but if they were she figured they would have shot already. To her, they were all the same.

Cecelia didn't answer, just tried to remain calm, when she felt Francis place a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder. Footsteps approached behind them, but she dared not to look.

"Holy shit," she'd never been so relieved to here a familiar voice behind her, so she turned slowly. "Cecelia? Francis?"

Although the owner of the voice wasn't her current favorite person, she turned around to face him. Jesus.

"Paul?" she said, her voice low and angry. He wasn't there when he was supposed to be. He was responsible for Francis being taken, he wasn't there to be the backup she had needed, splitting off on their way there to do God-knows-what. "Son of a bitch," she growled, stepping forward, seeing only red.

"Cecelia, please!" He exclaimed.

"When you make a commitment to someone it is not cool to back out!" she snapped, striding towards him, nearly forgetting the strangers that surrounded them. Taking both free hands she shoved him backwards with all the energy she could manage, when she was suddenly yanked back and restrained by the arms of someone else.

"Look, I can explain!" Jesus insisted, seeming unfazed by her attack. Cecelia whipped around to find the man in the blue button-down holding her back, and realized they must be connected to Jesus in some way.

"Let go of me," she said, growling in the stranger's face, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Francis' gun aimed fight at him, prepared to take him down. The air was tense, she could sense that any movement may set off a chain reaction. Cecelia used her free hand to brush her hair off her forehead, taking in a deep breath as she looked into the man's intense blue irises.

"Rick," Jesus spoke. "She's fine, you can let her go. Francis, put the gun down, they won't hurt you. They're with me."

Francis didn't budge, his arm still extended, a fiery look in his eyes.

"Francis..." Jesus cautioned.

The man holding Cecelia's bicep reluctantly loosened his grip, allowing her to back away, eyes trained on her all the while. Francis relaxed a bit, lowering the weapon, but still alert. She stepped toward Jesus. "What the hell is this?" she asked, the bite in her voice fading.

"When I was on my way to help you, I saw some men with supplies," Jesus began. "It was a truck full. I had to take the opportunity. We needed things back at Hilltop too badly. I thought, maybe, if I got the truck full of supplies, we could eliminate the need to be in contact with Negan. We could hide them from him. I didn't mean to abandon you, I was thinking for the greater good. For Hilltop."

"The greater good? In what world is the greater good abandoning one of your own?" Cecelia protested. "People could have died."

"And if I went with you and things didn't work out, then more people could have died," Jesus argued. "It was a gamble any way it played out. I'm glad you're both okay."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Cecelia hissed.

Jesus took a deep breath. "The men I met," he gestured to the people behind her. "This is Rick," he pointed to the man who had restrained her. "And Daryl," he gestured to the man in the leather vest. "This is their group. That's Michonne," he said, looking at the woman with the sword. "And this is Glenn and Maggie," he pointed to the black-haired, smaller man and short-haired brunette who stood beside him, whom Cecelia hadn't noticed before.

"This is Cecelia and Francis," Jesus said to the group of people. "We've been together awhile, before Hilltop."

Rick looked at both Francis and Cecelia, then made eye contact with a few members of his group.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked Cecelia.

Cecelia shrugged, glancing at him. "I've lost track."

"How many people have you killed?" asked Michonne, the woman with the gun.

Cecelia sighed, "Only a handful."

Rick, who stood closest to her, narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Self-defense," she said, her voice jaded. She wasn't even sure if Jesus knew all the stories, he knew some, but they rarely talked about the past, unless it was about their life pre-outbreak.

Rick turned to Francis, "How many walkers have you killed-"

"Listen," Cecelia hissed, stepping in between the two. "I'm sure we'd all love to sit around for a Q & A, but I don't think now's the time for that discussion." She knew how Francis dreaded conversation, especially with those he didn't know. And she knew how talk of death might trigger him. "What are you doing out here?"

"We're going to kill Negan," Rick explained, glancing over at Jesus.

"Really?" Cecelia asked, surprised, she felt the corner of her lip tug up in a bitter smile. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"Well-"

Jesus interrupted. "Rick and his group have a community, Cecelia. It has electricity, running water. They have a clinic, an arsenal. The have the firepower that we don't."

"How will that help kill Negan?" she asked, becoming less sarcastic and honestly curious. She was concerned about this group, their naivety, they were so unaware of who Negan was, what he was capable of, and how loyal his followers were. There was nothing simple about what they were trying to accomplish.

"We've been through a lot. We've overcome a lot. We know what this Negan is like, we've met men and women like him before," Rick answered, his voice a deep, easygoing southern drawl. She had gotten used to hearing it in the more southern parts of the country, but his was especially prominent.

Cecelia didn't know what else to say, but she guaranteed they would have little success. Although in some ways a practical man, Negan was a bit of a loose cannon, not someone to be fucked with. And even if they were capable of killing him, there'd be a thousand loose ends to clean up.

Francis was looking slightly pale, his face drained of color. "I'm not going back there," he insisted.

"We don't have to," Cecelia assured him, approaching the man to offer some comfort, looking helplessly at Jesus.

"We don't-" Jesus began. "Rick, I can't take Cecelia back, she and Francis were just there."

"We have a deal," Cecelia looked at Jesus. "You take me back, he'll kill me for sure."

Cecelia watched Rick look at his group, seeming like he was in charge of the decision-making among them.

"Whatever you chose to do, I'm taking Francis back to Hilltop. He needs stitches," Cecelia asserted.

"Jesus," Rick began. "You take them to the car with Tara and Gabriel. Back to Alexandria. Denise can get him stitches and then they can go back to Hilltop with you in a few days."

Jesus nodded, and Cecelia felt her head jerk backwards in confusion, looking between the two of them. Since when did Paul take orders, especially from someone he barely knew? And how was this man about to tell them where to go?

"We're just going to go back to Hilltop," Cecelia asserted. "I have jobs to do, a business to run, we don't know who these people are."

Jesus appeared slightly upset at her reaction. "Cecelia, Francis, can you and I talk please?" he looked at Rick for approval. What was this? "Privately."

Cecelia reluctantly followed Jesus about one hundred feet away before he turned to face them.

"What the hell is going on?" Cecelia asked before he could open his mouth. Francis nervously looked back at the group that watched them intently.

"Relax, Cecelia," Jesus reassured, but it didn't help her calm down at all. Her mind was running a thousand miles a minute as she searched for a logical explanation.

"They have guns, they need food. We have food, we need guns. So we're trading them for protection. They're confident. They've encountered these kinds of people before," Jesus explained, though it didn't make her feel any better.

"So what's this Alexandria, and why do we have to go back there?"

"They won't trust you to walk in the woods alone," Jesus explained. "Who knows, you could come back for them."

"We could come back for them?" Cecelia wrinkled her nose, giving Jesus a bewildered stare. "But we're going to trust them to take us back to their community?"

"They won't," Jesus said firmly.

Cecelia's jaw dropped. "Are you listening to yourself? Have they brainwashed you? I thought you were smarter-"

"Cecelia," Francis said, his hand touched her back gently. While she didn't like being told what to do, she did trust Francis' intuition, and shut her mouth.

"Hear me out," Jesus began. "Just relax. I met them. I've known them...they're trustworthy. They won't do anything unless provoked, which I think is reasonable. They'll put you in a nice house for a few days, that's what they did to me. Once we head back to Hilltop, it'll be over. You won't have to see them again, unless it's during some type of trade. But you have to trust me. Remember, trust goes both ways."

"Well I trusted that you'd help me get Francis back," Cecelia argued. "And you didn't do that."

Jesus almost ignored her argument, but then looked up at Francis. "Listen, Francis, you know I would never jeopardize the three of us. Things just happened and I was forced to act on impulse."

Francis responded. "I'm not upset, I understand. You should have seen what Cecelia did."

"What did you do?" Jesus looked over.

"It's not important," Cecelia bit her lip. "I know they need medication and maybe even drugs. But I can't keep finessing my way around these things, I need us to work together, or we'll all end up dead."

He could tell she was frazzled and nervous, a contrast to her normal poker face. Jesus reached out to comfort her, but she shrunk away from his gesture, bumping into Francis as she tried to avoid the contact. He ignored her action and continued. "Listen, I know you're nervous about this, but I'm telling you, you're going to be fine. You'll like Alexandria. Their facilities are better than what we have back at Hilltop. They have a doctor who can help Francis, they have walls. It's going to work out okay. And you'll be home before you know it."

While Cecelia would normally stand her ground, she did sense some desperation and pleading in his tone, so she decided it couldn't hurt. It made her nervous, sure, but it would only be a few nights max until her and Francis would be home. She could survive on little to no sleep if it meant keeping watch to keep the two of them safe.

* * *

 **Okay guys, so this is definitely something different. I usually plan my fics for a really long time before publishing things, but I had a great idea and I wanted to roll with it.** **Let me know what you think of my first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

Paul had been mostly right about Alexandria, Cecelia hated to admit to herself. She was very weary of anyone new, and she believed she had the right to be, but Alexandria was nice. It was clean, they had running water, weapons, and a doctor, Denise, who'd done well stitching Francis up when they first arrived. But to be safe, Cecelia had barricaded the two of them inside the house for the next two days, keeping a close watch on the people who came and went. She was tired, having only napped on and off during the day when Francis was awake, staying up at night walking rounds around the house, nervous.

The home they'd been put up in was next to the Clinic, where Denise lived. The home was basically unfinished, the drywall was exposed and there was minimal furniture, but there was running water and walls, which was a few steps up from the trailer she lived in at Hilltop. The living room, which was where they'd spent the most time, had a few plushy couches and a baby grand piano in the corner.

She supposed if she knew everyone who lived there, she wouldn't feel nearly as unsure, but she was anxious to get back to Hilltop. Though it wasn't nearly as nice, it was home, and to her, that was all that mattered. When she went after Francis she hadn't anticipated stumbling across such a situation. One of the things she had considered was death, going up against Negan, but this...was really unexpected.

"So, what do you think about all this?" asked Cecelia, entering the living room where Francis sat with a bowl of Ramen Noodles.

Francis shrugged. "It's nice here, seems safe."

Cecelia nodded, the setting sun streaming through the window over the sink, across from her blinded her, making her blink.

"You can sleep, you know," Francis said. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, but I can keep watch if you want me to, so you can get some sleep."

Cecelia normally would have resisted his offer, but a good night's sleep sounded enticing. "Are you sure?" she wanted to clarify. "I mean, if your head is still bothering you it's not an issue for me to stay up." Before she had found Hilltop, Cecelia was used to running on little sleep, moving around just to stay alive.

"Just get some rest," Francis assured her.

Cecelia wasn't going to argue with Francis, and she left him in the kitchen to go settle onto the couch in the front living area.

She awoke with a start to a loud noise at the front door. Immediately, her hand jerked towards the knife at her hips but Francis was already there.

"It's just Jesus," he said, striding towards the entrance.

Jesus walked in, looking a bit disheveled and worn out, greeting them with a nod and a smile. It was a mystery to Cecelia how he stayed so happy-go-lucky despite the circumstances.

"You're back, how'd it go?" Cecelia asked, curiously. She could tell from the look on his face he seemed unhappy, but it was unclear why. He'd been gone longer than she'd expected him to be, when he'd originally driven them back to Alexandria he'd explained Rick's plan. Jesus wasn't supposed to be involved, he was just going to be outside of Negan's camp remotely while the others did their work, but it looked like he'd been more involved then originally intended.

With a few large steps, Jesus plopped in the chair across from the loveseat Cecelia had been sleeping in moments earlier and widened his eyes, looking at the ground. "Well, not exactly as planned."

Francis settled in a chair next to him, staring intently.

"That doesn't surprise me," Cecelia clipped.

"Cecelia, honestly," Jesus snapped at her, a rare occurrence for him. "I know you love being right, but I don't need your shit right now." Cecelia closed her mouth.

"They killed all the men in the building. I had to go in, they were overwhelmed," he winced. "But Negan wasn't there. Somewhere in the time between you were there, he must have left. I don't think that's his real base, I think we've been tricked. It was a bloodbath."

Jesus continued. "The Saviors took two of Rick's group-Carol and Maggie are their names. Maggie's pregnant. They kidnapped them, but they were able to get them back. It was a whole ordeal."

The story was vague, and she didn't know the women he was speaking of, so she tried to fill in the blanks in her head. Cecelia noticed his hands shaking, uncharacteristically so. She knew he must have been truly spooked by whatever he'd seen, he wouldn't be acting this way if he wasn't.

"Paul, are you okay?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. "I can't help but feel bad….about the men I killed."

Cecelia winced. She'd had to kill people in her day, but mostly in self defense. She was always a bit edgy afterwards, but in her eyes, it was in the best interest of the people around her and herself - at least that helped justify it.

"They were killing men while they were asleep in their beds," he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Paul," she closed her eyes for a moment. She'd never been good at comforting others, but she moved from her seat on the couch to prop herself on the arm of his chair and rub his shoulder.

"It'll be okay…in time," he furrowed his brow.

Cecelia looked over at Francis, whose eyes were cast downward, staring at the floor. He looked as if he were thinking, digesting Jesus' story.

There was a short silence that passed between the three of them, and for the first time since they'd all arrived at Hilltop, she felt a similar sense of camaraderie. Together, they'd been a force to be reckoned with. But before Negan, they weren't aware of anything larger than themselves, like naive young children.

Cecelia had a slight glimmer of hope inside her that Rick's group had the capabilities to get rid of Negan. She knew it was unrealistic, and she had been right about that. But now they'd likely have to deal with some sort of retaliation, unless Rick's damage had been enough to send a strong signal.

In her few moments of conversation with Negan, she saw him as relatively reasonable, and could somewhat understand his point of view, but the reasoning for excessive brutality was where that understanding no longer existed. He may not be stupid enough to pursue Rick's group if he felt they were dangerous. But she found time and time again, she was ignorant to the Saviors and their strategies.

The next day Jesus, Francis, and Cecelia were scheduled to travel back to Hilltop with Rick's group. Gregory and the rest of those at Hilltop didn't know the news of what had happened with Negan, and it was in everyone's best interest to get back there before Negan decided to retaliate. Plus, Negan was unaware they were working together.

Cecelia took one last shower under the running water before leaving. At Hilltop, she had the ability to bathe regularly, but there was nothing like hot, clean water. She let her hair air dry as she waited for Jesus and Francis to get ready to leave. Cecelia was still able to snag clean clothes from the drawers. She wasn't sure if it was okay that she took them, but she didn't really care. She needed new ones, and the Alexandrians weren't short of supplies like they were at Hilltop.

She was still exhausted due to lack of sleep while staying at Alexandria, but she knew once they were all home things would resume as normal….at least she hoped.

Jesus came down the stairs, his long, damp hair tucked underneath a beanie. She didn't know how he wore the hat in the steaming heat or summer, but she didn't ask questions. Francis followed, slinging the small backpack full of their stuff over his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Jesus asked.

Cecelia nodded, standing up from the couch, rubbing her eyes. The day was uncharacteristically cool, but the breeze felt nice on her skin after days of holing herself up inside the house with Francis. The sun shone, the sky was a clear blue. She took in a deep breath, following Jesus to the entrance of the settlement.

There was an RV awaiting them, and she recognized Rick, the man who had restrained her after she lashed out at Jesus, loading it up along with a few others. She couldn't help but feel a twang of annoyance, but pushed it aside when they were greeted by the woman from a few days earlier who had dreadlocks and carried a sword.

"Hey Jesus," she gave a small smile.

"Hey, Michonne. Need any help loading up?" Jesus asked.

"No, I think we're about finished,' Rick answered for her, sauntering up behind the woman. He had a pretty fixed scowl on his face, she couldn't tell if he was angry, or just intense.

"Cecelia, Francis," Rick greeted them, and Cecelia responded with a nod of her head.

"Did you enjoy your stay?" asked Michonne.

"It was nice," Cecelia responded. "I forgot what it was like to have running water."

"That's how we all felt when we got here," she gave a bright smile. She seemed friendly.

Rick looked beyond Cecelia, Francis, and Jesus, and smiled. Michonne pursed her lips as Rick moved past them, turning back to face Michonne.

"Are we ready to go?" He asked Jesus.

Jesus nodded, and Cecelia followed him with Francis as they loaded into the car. She was just relieved to finally be heading home.

* * *

Cecelia was back at Hilltop. As anxious as she had been to get home, she found the living conditions there a bit unsatisfying after staying at Alexandria. She felt like she had been spoiled. Despite this, she was more than willing to sacrifice hot, running water for the familiarity, and the ability to fall back into her regular schedule with Francis and Paul. In some ways, the way they lived at Hilltop reminded her of her childhood, a mixture of fondness and animosity.

Rick and his group hadn't stuck around very long after depositing her, Paul and Francis. He went in to talk to Gregory for awhile, his group meandering around outside waiting for him, before they all left in the RV within an hour or two of arriving.

The very real possibility of Negan coming back for Hilltop after the Alexandrian's failed mission weighed heavy on Cecelia's mind, despite the fact she knew she would probably be safe if the attack occurred. The deal she had struck with Negan made her feel a bit less vulnerable, but it didn't guarantee the security of anyone else but her and Francis.

She had been working in the pharmaceutical industry since she'd graduated college, with a degree in chemistry. She hadn't been mixing prescriptions at a DrugMart in a white coat, she worked in a laboratory. In fact, despite her graduation, she never really left academia, working in her university's research department, developing and testing new medications with her colleagues.

It was because of her extensive knowledge and valuable skill set Negan had spared Francis' life. In return for him, and her protection, she owed Negan drugs - whatever him and the Saviors wanted. It was similar to their deal with Hilltop, on a smaller scale, but Gregory didn't know about it yet.

While she mostly helped with the security of Hilltop, her second job there was exactly what most pharmacists did. Cecelia helped Dr. Carson mix prescriptions and count out pills for 'patients' who needed them, even though they had limited resources. Negan however, would want more. Heroin? Morphine? She wouldn't put it past The Saviors. Things that weren't as simple to pull together, especially not in the makeshift lab she'd created in a small tent near her and Francis' trailer they shared. She didn't know Negan's character well enough to know what he'd want. He seemed too practical for hard drugs, but his justification of his own psychotic actions made her think maybe he was doped up after all. And his men for sure weren't above using. It was just a matter of hearing from him to see what he'd want, unless she was murdered by The Saviors first without his knowledge.

Cecelia had bluffed a lot about her abilities. It wasn't that she didn't have the experience, she just didn't have the resources to do the things she'd spoke to him about. No real lab, no materials to work with.

Later in the day, she was supposed to debrief with Gregory about why she'd been gone, and how she ended up in Alexandria. He probably wanted to know about Negan too. She didn't want to tell him the truth, because she knew he'd chew her out, but at the same time, he would eventually find out, so there was no use in being secretive. Gregory had asked her specifically not to go after Francis after he'd been kidnapped and she'd directly disobeyed him. Cecelia didn't see the point in following rules anymore. They had never stopped her when she was growing up, and they especially weren't going to stop her now. The idea that there was any sort of order in this world they lived in was laughable.

Francis was gone from their shack. During the day, and sometimes at night, he worked patrolling the fences and the area around Hilltop. He was a good fighter, and a good shot, but it always made her uneasy. She'd worked so hard to make him stable, she wasn't sure how long it'd take him to be alright if he unraveled again. She should have had more faith in Francis' mental health, but she couldn't help but draw up ridiculous scenarios in her mind.

This made her mind wander to curly black hair and deep brown eyes and Cecelia immediately shoved the offending thought to the back of her head where it belonged. She didn't need her own downward spiral while she was helping Francis.

Standing up after a quick lunch of canned fruit, Cecelia decided to get her meeting with Gregory over. She wasn't sure what made her feel unsettled by the man, but she didn't like him. He was a bit sexist, but that wasn't even what bothered her the most. Cecelia felt like it was his cowardice. He'd let others fall while he sat back and did nothing about it. Just like what he did with Francis.

She entered the big house that was used as a common space, despite the fact that no one besides Gregory and Dr. Carson actually lived inside it. Cecelia didn't even bother knocking on his cracked office door, instead walking right inside without warning.

Gregory jumped when she entered and cleared his throat quickly. He was sitting behind his desk reading. A real leader would have been out working with his men. But there he was, doing God-knows-what. "Hello Cecelia," he smiled, his eyes looking a bit uneasy.

"You wanted to meet with me," Cecelia stated.

"Oh, yes," he responded, and Cecelia took a seat at one of the chairs across from his desk.

"You went after Francis against my direct orders," he said to her.

"Yeah," she agreed, not in the mood to deny or lie about anything that had happened.

Gregory stared at her awhile. "I'm not sure what I need to do in order to assert my authority. Make an example of you? Punish you? What do you think?"

Cecelia didn't like where this was going. She hadn't expected him to be this angry at her for going off on her own. If he was going to start putting his foot down now, it was too late. The people at Hilltop were already growing unhappy under his influence, but there weren't many alternative options. Becoming stricter and more assertive would push people further away.

"There's a difference between being a leader and being an authority. You've never presented yourself as the latter, so why would I suddenly start to listen to you?" Cecelia quipped. She didn't want to take it too far, but she had never been, and never would be, controlled by someone. Especially not him.

Gregory leaned forward on his chair, staring at her on the other side of the desk. She felt like she was in the principals office in middle school. "Cecelia, what exactly do you think my job is here?"

Cecelia didn't answer. She stared him down instead, because she knew it was a rhetorical question. She folded her arms in front of her chest, flexing her foot. _Point, stretch, point, stretch._

"I keep people safe, I don't want you out there on your own," Gregory continued, his voice a bit softer.

Now he was going to pretend he cared about her well-being. She knew the only thing he cared about was himself, and whether he lived or died. But that wasn't something worth bringing up. "And when's the last time you were out there on your own?" Cecelia asked.

Gregory blinked. "Don't change the subject, Cecelia."

"You aren't qualified to tell me what the safe thing to do is," Cecelia stood up.

Gregory straightened up as she walked towards the door to this office. "We aren't done discussing what happened out there, at Alexandria, with Negan-"

"Then we can talk about it later," Cecelia cut him off and left the office. Gregory didn't even bother to call after her. Cecelia stumbled into Dr. Carson on the way outside.

"Cecelia," he nodded in greeting. "Are you happy to be back?"

She shrugged, unsure now after Gregory's strange change in behavior. He had always annoyed her, but she didn't know why he was deciding to tighten the reins. It probably had something to do with his fear of Negan.

"I'm glad I ran into you," he said, staring a the spiral notebook in front of him he used as a chart. "What exactly happened out there?" he asked, and it took Cecelia awhile to realize he was talking about being outside.

Cecelia shook her head. "It's a long story, and I'm not really interested in getting into it."

Dr. Carson seemed to pick up on her frustration, but knew better than to ask questions about why she'd just spoken with Gregory. Even Carson wasn't a huge fan of Gregory. Glancing over his shoulder to the cracked office door, he leaned in before lowering his voice. "Things are changing around here, Cecelia. And not for the better. You should have stayed in Alexandria."

Cecelia wasn't sure how to respond. He wasn't usually so open with her, he kept to himself, similar to how she did. "I've noticed," she bit her lower lip, pushing down on the brim of the black baseball cap she always wore. "But I'm not moving away anytime soon. It's only a matter of time before her realizes the mistakes he's making." S decided she'd said enough.

For the most part, no one could be trusted, and as soon as the words came out of her mouth she regretted them. Carson didn't strike her as being supportive of Gregory, but word got around, and she didn't need any more trouble than she already had with their leader.

She headed back to her trailer, and ran into Francis walking back from a patrol shift. He gave her his signature bashful smile that was reserved for mostly her and Paul on occasion in lieu of a verbal greeting, and she gave him a small smile back. It felt foreign to smile, even if it was at Francis.

They walked back to their shack together where Cecelia changed into heavier clothes for the nightshift she was taking to keep watch. Now more than ever did they need to have people on extra security wasn't a bad idea, if Gregory thought of it. She doubted he would. He didn't exactly come up with brilliant plans in high-stress situations. If Negan realized, and he probably would, since he wasn't and idiot, that the Hilltop survivors were behind the recent attack on the Saviors, he would have it out for them, and not just Alexandria.


	3. Chapter 3

**Content Warning: Suicidal Thoughts**

* * *

Cecelia walked through life not unlike the corpses that surrounded her. Inside, she felt like she was rotting away, her heart ached, her brain tore itself apart in turmoil. She kept replaying the same song in her head over and over until she was convinced it was no longer echoing inside her mind and was playing loudly in the open air.

Her fingers tangled into dark hair that wasn't there, her eyes locked on brown orbs that disappeared when the wind picked up and the dead leaves obstructed her vision. He was there, then he was gone.

 _Someday, when I'm awfully old, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight..._

And she was on her own again, really, like she always had been. She wandered aimlessly with no real purpose. She climbed the stairs to tall buildings, standing on on the ledges, tossed rocks over the edge to watch them hurl through the air and end up crashing on the ground among those who walked aimlessly. She raided liquor stores and pharmacies for gin and Xanax, only to throw everything up after it hit her empty stomach. She withered away to skin and bones. She tiptoed on the edges of cliffs and quarries until the ground would give out beneath one of her feet and she'd stumble from away from the treacherous drop, the adrenaline rush making her survival instincts kick in, a moment of clarity. She wondered if she was trying to kill herself or remember what it was to feel normal in those moments. But after a while she discovered that she couldn't end her own life. She wished someone else would, she knew she was too scared to do it herself.

One day, while traipsing through the woods, Cecelia heard the distinct moans of a corpse in the air and immediately went into defense mode, listening to the groans and trying to find their source. She wanted to die, but there was one way to go out she refused to let happen. She caught the sight of it, laying on the ground, facing away from her, it's hair matted with blood. With slight horror, Cecelia realized it had just turned. The way the color still remained in it's skin and it's head was still completely covered in thick hair gave this away. She pulled her knife from the band on her waist, swallowing, and adjusted the black baseball cap on her head before grabbing it's shoulder and yanking it to face her so she'd have better access to it's head.

As soon as she grabbed it's shoulder, it jumped as though she had woken it from a deep sleep, it's opposite arm grabbing her shoulder and throwing her down beside it. In a moment, it was on top of her, her arms pinned beneath it's knees. Corpses didn't normally have that sort of dexterity. She shrieked in pain, her head snapping up to meet feral, but human eyes.

"Oh my god," she let out a strangled gasp, relieved, despite the fact that her problems weren't quite over. "I thought you were-"

As if suddenly realizing what she was thinking, the wild-looking man released her and moved away. She saw a huge gash on his arm, his reddish hair stuck up in all directions, caked in mud and dirt. Cecelia stood and he struggled to his feet. His face was covered in silt and nail-marks, and as he rose it suddenly paled and he sunk back to the ground with bleary eyes. This man was not okay.

"It's okay," she reassured, inching towards him tentatively. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The man said nothing, watching her with a weary and weathered look on his face. Cecelia wasn't one to trust humans, not even before the outbreak, but she had a different feeling about this man. There was something inherently good about him, she'd never felt anything like it before. He seemed helpless.

"Here," she said, cautiously watching him as she dug around in her small backpack. "You look hungry," She handed him an old protein bar she herself had refused to eat, but she wouldn't miss it. He just stared at her, wheezing.

"Look," she said, inching closer and crouching in front of him. "It's sealed, see?" She showed him the wrapper. "Watch," she opened it up and took a bite. "No games, I promise."

After she swallowed he finally took it from her hands, taking a small bite and chewing it. Cecelia finally got off her feet and sat down at a right angle to him, listening to the crinkle of the wrapper. She zoned out slightly, wondering what the hell she was doing. Suddenly, the half-eaten protein bar appeared in front of face.

"No, thanks I'm fine, you finish," she said, pushing it away. He shoved it back in her face.

"Fine," she said, taking another bite and swallowing it. It tasted expired and like absolute shit, but Cecelia suddenly realized how hungry she was. It had been what felt like weeks since she'd last eaten anything sustainable, only taking small bites of whatever she had on hand, still so upset it had been hard for her to keep it down.

"What the hell happened to you, anyways?" she asked, looking at the scratches and chunks of flesh missing all over his body. He had quite the shiner on his right eye.

The man didn't answer, just gazed into the distance in a dazed sort of way. Cecelia shook her head, pulling out her canteen full of warm water. Taking a sip, she passed it towards him, and he took a long swig.

"Well," she said. "You look pretty beat up. I think maybe we should go try to find something to stitch you up, get you a change of clothes or something."

He acknowledged her by giving her the side-eye.

"Look, I'm trying to help you," she explained, rising to her feet. "I think I saw a pharmacy about a mile from here, can you walk?"

To her surprise, the man struggled to his feet, and she wasn't expecting him to be as tall as he was. All crumpled up he didn't look so big. He limped towards her, favoring his left foot, but didn't appear to need help moving forward. She wasn't exactly comfortable being that close to him yet. He was silent, and she didn't have any problem not making small talk.

They found the pharmacy. By the time they were there it was nightfall, and Cecelia had to clear some stray corpses from the store before it was safe for them to camp in for the evening. The man slumped against the checkout counter with a pained cry. Cecelia began looking for pain medications and antibiotics. The store had already been raided, but she was able to find some scattered in the mess all over the floor, along with some alcohol wipes and a first aid kit. It wasn't the best, but it was helpful.

She grabbed a few clean shirts and pairs of jeans. Pharmacies always had cheap clothes, but it beat his dirtied and tattered rags that hung limp off his body. The only food she could find was some canned peaches, and though they didn't have much protein, the sugar would hopefully give them some extra energy.

Cecelia helped the man move away from the storefront in case there were visitors through the night, and she lit some candles for them in the back of the store in order to see her work.

He resisted at first, and Cecelia had to wrestle him to the ground before her finally succumbed. Something was off, the entire time he didn't utter a word, his eyes were mostly glazed over and distant, despite her questions.

"Do you have a camp?" He didn't even acknowledge her.

"What happened?" she asked again. Still no answer.

So instead of asking questions, Cecelia talked as she worked, not to fill the empty air, but to soothe him. Each time she moved too quickly towards a tool in the first aid kit, he'd flinch or grow defensive, and it'd take her awhile to calm him down before she was able to move on. When she explained her actions beforehand, however, he seemed to be less anxious. She was no doctor, but she thought she managed to do a good job, working from his feet to his head, slowly cleaning and dressing his wounds, cleaning his filthy skin as best as she could, turning away so he could change and discard his old clothing.

As Cecelia worked, she felt like she was uncovering a new person. She finished placing the last bandage over the gnarly cut down his arm and stopped back to admire her work. He was quite pale and scruffy looking, but she could see from his sharp jawline, tousled auburn hair, and piercing green eyes he was a handsome man.

"There," she said, hooking the bandage together. "You look a lot better."

He swallowed, but didn't turn his head from his fixated gaze on the wall.

"I found us some food," she said, handing him a jar of peaches. "It's not much, but it's something."

They ate in silence, the cicadas outside roaring with ferocity. He ate slowly, but at least he ate, and finished his jar before drinking from Cecelia's canteen. She tugged at a piece of her hair, her mind wandering until she heard the familiar notes enter her mind.

 _With each word, your tenderness grows, tearing my fears apart..._

Cecelia pushed it away, though it sounded so thundering she had to close her eyes and discreetly plug her ears. She looked at the man in front of her who stared, dazed at her actions. Immediately, she cleared her throat and straightened up. Of course he would tune in on the verge of one of her breakdowns.

 _What the fuck am I doing?_

"Anyways," she said, now talking to fill the silence and not let herself dwell on anything other than that moment. "My name is Cecelia Abrams. What's yours?"

He wouldn't answer, and he didn't, as she expected. Growing frustrated, she stood up and watched him flinch as she did so.

"You know," she said. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have already done it."

Nothing. Turning away from him, she faced the windows.

"Most people can sense a goodness in others," Cecelia considered out loud, talking to herself more than anyone else."I've done a number of shitty things, but I wouldn't murder someone like you. You're a good person, whoever you are. You may not speak, but I know that one thing about you, and you didn't even have to say a word," She glanced over her shoulder at him, turning away and crossing her arms.

"What makes you so sure?"

Cecelia jumped at his voice, surprisingly clear and smooth. He cleared his throat. She turned and looked at him, slightly nervous, maybe she'd been wrong, this was all an elaborate plan to rob and murder her. Maybe she was finally getting what she wanted, to be killed by this primitive man. He was staring at her, the candlelight making his face warmer than it had looked before. There was a dark contour underneath his sunken cheekbone, but his eyes, for once, locked on hers.

"I just know," she said, her voice unwavering even though she wasn't so sure of her convictions anymore.

He turned away, apparently not willing to offer any sort of response. "Cecelia," he repeated her name, and she stepped forward, despite her concerns. "I'm Francis."

* * *

 **Whew! Flashback. I absolutely loved writing this chapter, this is one of my favorite things I've written. I changed the rating of this story to T, because right now the only thing is just violence and language. I might change it back to M again once Negan gets more involved because we all know ya fave has a bit of a potty-mouth.**

 **Let me know what you all think and how you are doing! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**CW: Lots of language!**

* * *

It had only been about fifteen minutes after Cecelia had gotten off her afternoon shift of guarding the fences when she heard commotion outside. It sounded like it was coming from the front of the colony. With a frustrated groan she placed her handgun at the holster on her hip and tugged the black baseball cap over her short blond ponytail before exiting her and Francis' shack to see what was going on.

She had been about two seconds away from biting into a fresh, crisp apple that some of the men had brought back from a run that day, so she took it with her. Her appetite was never consistent anymore, she only ate because she had to, but half the time she couldn't force anything down until halfway through the day.

Paul was jogging up towards her as she passed through the door.

"Oh thank god," he said in relief when he saw her. "It's the Saviors, they're here."

"Shit," Cecelia said, he hand instinctively going to her gun. "They found out we were with Alexandria?"

"No," Paul raised his eyebrows. "They want you."

Cecelia took a deep breath. _Fuck_ , she thought. "Me?" she asked. She supposed this was coming, just not so soon.

"You got to get up there now before they come looking," Jesus warned her. She hadn't spoken to Paul much recently, he seemed busy being the liaison between Alexandria and Hilltop, Cecelia didn't see him much.

"Yeah," she said, inhaling slowly again before tagging along next to him, jogging at a slow pace.

When she reached the front of the community, she saw Francis standing stone-faced by a rather large jeep with three men around it. These were Saviors, that was sure, she could tell by their rugged exterior, and the fact they were heavily armed, much larger and leaner than the colonists here. Everyone was staring at her, and she felt like shrinking back to her tent. She didn't like this sort of attention, but it was too late to turn around.

"Are you Cecelia?" a blonde, pasty man asked. She noticed that one side of his face was all scarred and angry, as if he'd been burned or something. It could have always been there, or it could have been Negan's doing.

"Can I help you?" she asked, waltzing forward towards the man, taking her time. Her ability to fabricate confidence when she wanted to shrink up under a blanket had always been impressive.

"You're coming with us," he demanded, not even bothering to introducing himself.

"Excuse me?" she felt like the crowd was closing in on her, like she was suffocating, but she remained calm. "And you are?"

"Dwight," he informed, before lowering his voice so the colonists couldn't hear. "Negan wants to see you."

"He couldn't have come to see me himself?" she feigned indifference. One of the men next to Dwight laughed as if she told a joke.

Dwight smiled, his mouth a mess of teeth. "Are you going to make this difficult?"

She looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with Gregory, who shrunk back behind one of the other residents, like the mouse he was. She turned back to Dwight. "No, let's go."

"Get in the back" Dwight ordered, and the men began piling in the jeep. Reluctantly, but with as much calm as she could muster, she followed. As she was about to enter the backseat, she heard a voice.

"Cece!" it was Francis, who was standing in front of Paul. The nickname made her wince, she hated when he called her that, but she ignored it, nodding at him.

"I'll be okay," she mouthed silently. He bit his lower lip and stepped back.

She sat next to one of the men in the back, and as soon as they turned the car around and exited Hilltop he yanked the gun out of the holster on her hip, setting it aside, before aiming his own pistol casually towards her head. Cecelia crunched into her apple, chewing and swallowing, before speaking up.

"What's that for?" she asked sitting forward, positioning her head so the barrel was directly in between her eyebrows. Her bad habit of sarcasm and disregard when she felt pressured, was coming out, she didn't know why. A part of her wished he could pull the trigger and end everything now, so long as Francis and Paul stayed safe.

"We've been told you're a bit of a liability," the man said.

She laughed bitterly, taking a bite of the apple she had realized was still in her hand before aligning her body forward again and settling back against the seat. There'd been too much scenery change for her recently, and she didn't like it. The man next to her took the apple out of her hand and hurled it out the window of the car.

Slowly, Cecelia turned her head towards him and raised an eyebrow. He snorted at her, and Cecelia turned her head to the road, making a mental note of every turn and street name before Dwight, who was driving, glanced back at her, doing a double-take.

"Goddamnit, Jake!" he hissed. "The bag!"

"Shit, right," the man holding the gun to her brandished a black pillowcase from beneath the seat and yanked it over Cecelia's head, mussing her hair and baseball cap and leaving her blind for the time being.

"You sure have great hospitality," she spoke over the roar of the car's motor.

"Shut up," the man beside her said, and without the distraction of the road ahead, reality began to sink in, and so did her anxiety. She obeyed.

They drove for what felt like hours before finally she felt the car slow to a pause and heard the creak of gates opening, men talking to one another. _Thank god_. With the bag over her head and an empty stomach she was growing nauseous and dizzy. Strangely, her nerves went away and a wave of calm passed over her when she realized they had arrived.

"Come on," she heard her side of the car open and she was yanked out forcefully by Dwight, she assumed by his voice in her ear. Her knees hit the pavement they stood on, due to his aggressive movements and her weakened state. Her worn out jeans broke open as they scraped against the hard surface.

"Ouch, what the hell?" she hissed, feeling warm blood dripping down her shin.

"Hey, watch it!" she heard another voice she didn't recognize scold Dwight, and was surprised they even cared what happened to her.

Cecelia stumbled, senseless, over the ground as Dwight yanked her forward, into a cool room, then through a series of hallways and up steps. The steps were the worst. They were iron and hard, her boots clacked as she moved over them, getting battered along the way by an unwavering Dwight. She'd be covered in bruises tomorrow if she made it through this.

Finally she was pulled through a doorway, and on carpet. Her boots weren't as loud, the room was cool, and Dwights cursing sounded different in the acoustics. Finally, Cecelia was plopped in a plush chair, the bag pulled off her head. Immediately she blinked, her hands running smoothing her hair, pulling the cap over her eyes as they adjusted to the surroundings. The room was relatively nice, and looked like a home office, with a fireplace and warm decor. There were bookshelves beside her and a desk in front of her.

Behind the desk sat none other than Negan himself, who looked quite out of place behind the rich mahogany wood, wearing a dirty white t-shirt and a worn leather jacket, as he had last time she saw him. In front of him, on his desk, was none other than his precious Lucille, the wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. Jake, the man who'd sat beside her in the car, placed her gun and knife on the desk in front of him.

This building, she could feel, was large. Some sort of converted warehouse or something. The satellite dish place was where she'd first met Negan. It was colder, darker and dingier. This place, clearly had had some sort of facelift. And it was certainly his headquarters, she decided, since Dwight & Co. had gone to such great lengths to make sure she didn't see where they were going.

She glanced to her left and saw the same man, Jake, was still holding a gun at her head to her right.

"Cecelia," Negan leaned forward with a smile. _God_ , he had a way of looking sincerely happy to see her that made her unsettled. Cecelia's nose wrinkled at his greeting, she simply nodded in response. She watched his eyes travel from her face downward, and she realized the strap of her tank top had made it's way off her shoulder at some point, revealing her chest and her black sports bra, as well as her cleavage. With her opposite hand, she snapped it back into place, Negan smirking at her movement.

"Goddamn," he muttered. "What the fuck happened to your knee? Did these assholes do that to you?"

"It would appear so," she said, glancing back to see Dwight over her left shoulder.

"What fucking part of 'be careful' do you dickholes not understand?" he asked, his voice booming as he spoke to the men on either side of her.

"It was an accident," she heard Dwight's voice manage. From the fear in his tone, she instantly knew that burn on the side of his face had to be from the man standing in front of her.

"I hope to hell it fucking was," he said, bringing his hand down on the table. "She's not a fucking rag doll, don't you know who the fuck she is?"

What the hell was he going? Cecelia wasn't sure what kind of game this was, but his friendly demeanor hadn't been so apparent the last time they had spoken. He wasn't in anyways similar to the Negan she had met a few weeks earlier. Now suddenly, he was flipping his attitude and treating her like she mattered or something. Maybe her plan had worked better than she expected, despite how wrong it felt.

Dwight had no verbal response, and Cecelia crossed her legs, slightly confused. Negan slowly sat down again, his eyes on Dwight the entire time, and he finally focused back on Cecelia.

She tilted her head towards Jake, who still held his pistol at her head. "Is this really necessary?"

Negan waved at Jake. "You two, just get the fuck out of here," she heard retreating footsteps and the door closed behind them. The gun from her forehead was gone.

"Fuckin' dumbasses. Surprised they've made it this long," he mumbled, more to himself than her.

Cecelia crossed her arms.

"How the hell are ya?" he asked, as if he was talking to an old friend he hadn't seen in awhile.

"I'm fine," she said, flexing her foot. It was a shitty nervous habit she had, but she didn't know what else to do. For a moment, there was silence, and she locked eyes with him. Cecelia glanced over at the fireplace to her right.

"Aren't you going to ask me how the fuck I am?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm not really one for small talk," Cecelia stood up, before moseying her way to the fireplace, Negan's eyes watching her. "Why am I here?"

"Straight to business, my kind of woman," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair, observing her. She felt his eyes all over in the worst way. Cecelia picked up a glass apple on the mantle and turned it over in her hand, thinking about how hungry she was, before finally looking up at him. He seemed to get the hint, continuing on. "You aren't in trouble, unless you had something to do with those fucks that killed my fucking men."

Feigning ignorance, Cecelia tilted her head. "What are you talking about?"

"Some goddamn cocksuckers came to one of our bases after we spoke a few weeks ago. Thank fuck I'd peaced the fuck out by then, but they still managed to do a number on my men. I'm not too fuckin' happy about it."

Cecelia raised her eyebrows, setting the apple back down. "Sorry to hear that."

"It'll be fine," he chuckled, standing up. "They'll be gone soon enough," his face became stony as he approached her.

Cecelia felt a shiver go down her spine. He was a larger man, and now it was just the two of them, but undoubtedly there was a guard outside. What obligation did she have to warn Alexandria of his plans? It was only a matter of time the Saviors who spent their time killing corpses around Hilltop would figure out the deal between the two colonies and Negan could zone in.

"Anyways," he said. "I've got my first order for the things I need from you," he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

Cecelia took it. She wasn't surprised by the meth and herion on the list scribbled in sloppy handwriting, but the pain medications and antibiotics made a bit more sense.

"I didn't pin you for a junkie," she laughed dryly, glancing up from the list. His face hardened.

"Fuck no," he responded. "I don't touch that shit. My men fuckin' asked, and ya gotta negotiate to keep those cunts happy."

It probably wasn't the best to let his men work while high, but Jesus had also said they'd stumbled across pot when they raided his facility. Anyways, Cecelia wasn't about to say anything. It was more of an advantage to Hilltop and Alexandria than anything else. Negan didn't seem like a person who negotiated either, she thought leading by fear was his whole thing. You mess up? You were good as dead.

"Fair enough," she continued to survey the list. "Some of this stuff will be a bit harder to cook. I need to go on a run, find the chemicals. It might take longer."

"We had a deal, right? Whatever I needed?" he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. His breath smelled sweet, she was surprised it wasn't rancid. His scent was a mixture of earth and fresh air.

Cecelia nodded.

"Then you better have it fucking ready on time."

Cecelia shrugged. "It's going to be ready when it's ready."

Negan's face grew harder, and he stepped forward. "You don't get to call the shots, sweetheart."

"Well, if it's not ready on time, I guess you can just find yourself another cook," Cecelia crossed her arms, having to look extra high in order to meet his eyes. He had no other cook, and he knew what she was implying. His dark eyes, which narrowed at her words, weren't enough to keep her from continuing on. "I'm not some rag doll. Don't you know who the fuck I am?" she repeated his words from earlier, tugging the right side of her mouth up at the corner in a smirk.

Negan's face went from angry to relaxed in a moment, and his face broke out into a grin, he rested his shoulder against the mantle casually. "Jesus Christ, do I like you. You've got fucking massive balls for a chick." he chuckled. "Fuck, if you and I didn't have this deal, I'd ask you to be one of my wives. But why the fuck couldn't you do both?" he finished in a question, looking over her shoulder as if thinking to himself.

Cecelia was so thrown off by his mood swing she just stared at him.

"You can stay here, work, get fed regularly, we could fuck whenever you wanted..." he glanced down at her and saw her brows knit together in confusion. "What? Don't you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"A good fuck. By the looks of it you need one. Lighten the fuck up."

The thought alone made her want to vomit, but as usual she kept her poker face. "I appreciate the offer, but I have other obligations," she said flatly.

"That's right," he laughed. "I forgot you have your little cunt of a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," she said. "And I'm married."

His eyes narrowed sarcastically. "So?"

Cecelia felt the anger rise in her chest, but didn't want to lose her cool in front of him. She hated that she had to bring it up and she resented him for even having to mention it. It made her stomach turn.

"I'd need to fatten you up a bit anyhow."

"Is it a habit of yours to make unsolicited observations about others' appearances? Or is it just my lucky day?" she stepped back, turning her attention to the bookshelf, facing away from him. His close proximity was making her wearisome, and she already felt feeble from her lack of food.

"Don't get all worked up, I thought you'd be able to handle a bit of constructive criticism."

His words blended together, her vision grew blurry and she reached to stable herself on the ledge of the bookshelf, knocking a book off the ledge. She bent to pick it up and her vision went black for a moment before returning, but her knees felt like jelly and she couldn't help but sink to the floor.

"Jesus Christ sweetheart," he chuckled. "I know I have quite an effect on women but I didn't think you'd lose your shit."

"That's enough," she said breathlessly.

"What the fuck is wrong?" he asked, growing serious.

"I'm fine," she took a deep breath and collected herself. "Just haven't eaten much today."

He put one hand around her forearm and hauled her to her feet. His touch alone reminded her of his strength and abhorred her at the same time.

"They don't feed you at Hilltop?" he laughed, his fingers trailing up to the back of her neck. He found their lack of food and weapons hilarious, which was ironic, since he was responsible.

"There's not much to eat when someone takes half your shit," Cecelia squeezed her head against her shoulder and shrunk away from his touch, the thought of his advances sickening her.

He moved away from her and rummaged through a drawer, brandishing a small bag of pretzels. "Take this for the road, sweetheart."

Cecelia hated that she was accepting anything from him but knew it was stupid not to take the offer. She took the bag out of his hand and placed her gun back in it's holster and her knife away.

"Someone's coming to take me back, I presume?" she cocked her head, feeling like herself again.

"That list," he said. "We have a deal?"

"Yeah," she responded, staring at his outstretched hand. Reluctant, she reached out to him, shaking it firmly. If it weren't for Dwight and Jake opening the door back up again, she would have noticed that his hand lingered, intertwined with hers longer than it should have.

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 **Finally some Negan! Please drop me a line, let me know what you think. I will post the next chapter if I get two reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5

It didn't take long for Cecelia to shake off her encounter with Negan. She resolved to herself that it was all business, if she wanted the deal to work out, she'd have to talk with him regularly. The things he had said didn't really mean anything, after all, she figured he'd just been trying to get a rise out of her and she what she thought. She may have lost her cool a bit, but from now own, she couldn't allow that to happen. She already wanted out, and she needed to figure out how to do so.

Killing him seemed a bit unrealistic and impossible, unless she got creative. Running away was probably useless too, because he had men everywhere. She had no idea how big his influence was.

Today, they were expecting a trade with Alexandria. Usually, they took turns visiting one another's compounds. The trades usually took place every other week or so. She didn't know the exact schedule, she just knew they were expected to arrive sometime during the afternoon. The drive from Alexandria to Hilltop was pretty hefty, in her opinion, and it wasn't uncommon to have to take alternate routes due to heards or other complications.

However, the group from Alexandria arrived pretty quickly, and most of the community was called forward to help unload and unpack the goods. Food had been especially scarce recently, on both sides. Alexandria was starting a garden, but it didn't produce quite enough for the demand.

She and Francis were on guard duty together, walking the perimeter of Hilltop, talking. Strangely enough, in the week or so since Negan's meeting, they hadn't really gotten to discuss much, so she took the opportunity to fill him in.

"I'm really sorry," Francis apologized. "It's my fault you've gotten wrapped up into this-"

"Francis," she cut him off. "It's not your fault. They could have just as easily taken someone else. It just so happened to be you. I'm just glad you're okay."

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. The sunlight brought out the lighter bronze strands in his mane. "So what are you going to do?"

She shrugged, moseying along beside him. "Stick to the plan, for now. Until I can come up with a way to get rid of him."

"What do you mean, like, kill him?" Francis' knit his brows together. "I don't think that's the best plan, you said so yourself."

"He basically invited me into his bed, I don't think it'll be hard to get close," she explained, humoring herself.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding broken. Francis appeared to shake the thought out of his mind before continuing. "Cecelia," he stopped her, grabbing her wrist. "Don't be stupid."

"Relax," she said. "I'm not going to try and kill him. But I don't want to be subject to this deal forever."

"Whether you're a part of it or not," Francis began, "You're still under his influence."

Francis had a point. Regardless of what happened, the only way to get away from this was to leave or kill him. And leaving obviously would just cause more problems.

Cecelia didn't respond, just sighed. They finished their shift and passed their guns to the next people on duty. The Alexandrian's were packing up at the entrance of Hilltop when they returned, and she saw Rick, their leader, working with them. He was talking to a rough-looking man with a leather jacket that had angel wings on the back. She felt like she'd met him at Alexandria, but she didn't remember his name. He looked like a biker. Cecelia recalled what Negan had said to her about Alexandria, and her conscience took over.

"You can go back home," she said to Francis. "I have to talk to Rick."

Francis cocked an eyebrow at her, then turned away to go back to their tent. She watched him for awhile before focusing her attention back on Rick, taking a deep breath before starting forward.

"Hey," she said, interrupting the conversation between the two men. "Rick, right?" she asked.

"That's me," he answered. "Cecelia?"

She nodded, glancing at the rugged man next to him.

"Daryl," he stated, his voice gruff.

"Right," she said. "I think we've met before."

He remained silent, and she continued. "Listen Rick, I have to talk to you about something." She eyed Daryl.

Rick's squinted at Cecelia in the sunlight. "Yeah?" He looked over at Daryl, who seemed to get the hint and shrunk off to go help load the RV.

"I didn't know if you'd want him to hear this," she shrugged.

"What is it?" Rick asked her. He had a easygoing southern drawl and a sharp jawline. The first time she'd met him he'd had a bit of a scruff going on, and hadn't noticed it.

"I'm not sure how to premise this," she began. "So I'm just going to tell you. I met with Negan last week, and he mentioned something about putting an end to Alexandria after what happened."

Rick's eyes revealed nothing, and she went on. "I'm not sure what you want to do with that information, but I figured you might want to know."

"That's all he said?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," she answered.

Rick nodded. "I think we were anticipating something, but I'm glad you told me. It's always best to be prepared."

Cecelia agreed with a quiet "Mmm," and was suddenly aware of Gregory standing a short distance away. He was doing a shit job of pretending to not listen to their conversation, acting like he was interested in the people loading the RV. But Cecelia knew better. She still hadn't told him about anything with Negan, and was waiting to see if he'd ask, or just be passive-aggressive about it forever.

She focused back on Rick to see if she could get out of the conversation, and he looked at her, seeming a bit confused. "Why did you meet with Negan in the first place?" Rick asked.

Cecelia laughed nervously, more concerned about Gregory overhearing. "It's actually a long story," she managed. "I trade with him, like you do."

"Trade what?" Rick asked, and she saw Gregory had moved closer, standing on the outside edge of their conversation, looking like he was trying to find an 'in'.

"Uh," she cleared her throat. "Just, you know. Medication and stuff. I worked in pharmaceuticals before," her voice was barely above a whisper, and Rick had to lean down to make out her voice.

She finally shifted her weight so Gregory was at her back and she could see Rick clearly.

"Gregory doesn't know," she said, mouthing the words.

"Doesn't know what?" She had blown it with her loud-ass voice she always hated so much. Gregory now stood in their conversation, officially part of the circle.

Cecelia closed her eyes, trying to think about how to respond.

Rick stared at the two of them, looking uncomfortable.

"Well," Cecelia began. "I haven't gotten the chance to talk to you about it yet."

"So this is what happened when you went after Francis? You made deals behind my back without my approval?"

Cecelia felt herself flush in a mixture of anger and embarrassment to be scolded in front of Rick, a man she hardly knew. "It didn't exactly impact you in any way. I figured it wasn't a problem."

"Cecelia-" He began, but she had already started in. She knew it would have been better to keep her mouth shut, but she had been pushed around most of her life, which made her gut reaction to anyone undermining her to fight back. It wasn't the best character trait to have, but it was difficult for her to control.

"I don't actually need your approval for anything, really, considering the fact that just recently have you decided to give a fuck about what the rest of us do," Cecelia said. She never had to raise her voice, she just spoke evenly and gave Gregory a blank stare. "Like I said, you have absolutely no hold on me. I can leave this place whenever I want."

She saw Gregory's jaw set, and as he was about to speak, Rick interrupted as Daryl was approaching them with Paul in tow.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "It seems like everything's packed up, so we're probably going to head out."

Gregory shook the angry look from his eyes, and gave Rick a pained smile. Cecelia saw this as the opportunity to excuse herself. She backed away slowly, running into Daryl and Paul.

"Hey," Paul stopped her. "What was that about?"

"Gregory," She mumbled. "I'm done. I can't live here anymore."

"So what are you going to do?" He asked, looking impassive. "Just let it go. Gregory will do the same in time."

Cecelia didn't know how to respond, she sighed, glancing over at Daryl. "Nice to meet you," Her tone sounded incredibly insincere, but she couldn't help it, she was still annoyed. "I hope you make it back okay."

Daryl nodded without a word, and Paul continued on towards Rick. Daryl didn't follow, Cecelia narrowed her eyes at him.

"If yer lookin' for a place to live, I'm sure Rick wouldn't mind takin' ya back to Alexandria," he said, quickly.

She felt her features soften. "I think Paul's right. Maybe things will blow over," she paused. "But thanks anyway. It was nice when I stayed there."

He nodded again, then backed away, following Jesus towards Rick. Cecelia turned herself away to walk back home, refusing to look back.

* * *

Rick had felt uncomfortable when Gregory had come at Cecelia and she'd fired back. When they were speaking, she seemed pleasant enough, but when Gregory had come over, her demeanor completely changed. After meeting her the first time, his opinion of her was that she was jaded and contentious. But she seemed more intelligent than he expected after today. There was clearly more to Gregory and Cecelia's relationship than he knew about, so that's why he tried to get out of the conversation as soon as he saw the opportunity.

Cecelia's warning was all Rick could think about on his way back. Sure, he expected Negan to come after them, but the confirmation of it made it all the more real. He wasn't exactly comfortable telling everyone on the RV about it, so he decided to wait until he got back to tell the others and come up with a plan before letting the rest of Alexandria know. With no substantial information, it's not like they could really do much to prepare, but being on alert was key.

As far as he was aware, The Saviors and Negan didn't know where Alexandria was. The only way they could find out was by catching them at Hilltop and following them back. Were they following them now? The thought made Rick's stomach turn.

For now, the best plan would probably be to keep more people on guard and be careful when they made trips to Hilltop. The whole thing was an absolute mess, it would make everyone nervous, but he figured everyone should know. Yes, his group was experienced at fighting and being out there on his own, before all this, as their leader, he didn't have to worry about them holding their own. But at Alexandria, there were people who'd never been outside, like Jessie. He didn't like the thought of them having to defend themselves with little-to-no knowledge.

Their best idea was most likely to be aware, and wait. He had no idea when Negan's attack would come.

* * *

 **I know this chapter wasn't super eventful, but there is more action/drama to come, trust me!**

 **I am always so careful to be sure my OC's aren't Mary-Sues, and I go to great measures to make their personalities are pretty easy-to-like. Cecelia is definitely outside of my comfort zone in terms of her personality and behavior, and I have enjoyed the challenge. I was curious as to what you all think?**


	6. Chapter 6

The past few hours had been nothing but a blur. Cecelia was exhausted and disoriented, having been woken up to deal with the situation at hand.

The Alexandrians had returned to Hilltop, weeks early and in the dead of the night. It was an emergency. She hadn't seen anything go down, but she'd been pulled from her sleep by Carson, who needed meds for Maggie Greene. She was in Rick's group, pregnant, and having complications. Cecelia didn't know who this was, but she'd helped Carson get what he needed.

It was Maggie's medical needs that brought them there originally, and with medical attention, Dr. Carson had been able to save her and the baby. But it came with a price. The full story had yet to be understood, but Cecelia heard snippets about Negan, his baseball bat, and the loss of one of their group. She didn't hear a name. This was the attack that Negan had referred to. This was what he'd been planning.

Cecelia had mulled over Daryl's offer of making Alexandria home the entire week, even mentioned it to Francis.

"I'll follow you wherever," he'd said. Because he kept to himself, he didn't really trifle with anyone, let alone Gregory. But she'd embraced him and promised him she'd make whatever decision was the best for both of them. Francis' company had been the only thing to keep her sane since Ari died. She wanted to make sure her decision wasn't a selfish one.

Earlier in the week she'd been bathing in the small outdoor shower that was behind Hilltop's large house. It wasn't the most private, it was just a small wooden hut with a door. Because Cecelia was tall, she always had to duck down to keep from exposing herself, since the walls stopped at about the shoulder area, leaving the average-sized person visible from the neck and shoulders up. It wasn't ideal, but it was the only place Hilltop had for a bath or shower.

Almost every animal had the ability feel when someone is watching them, Cecelia believed. This included humans, as long as they weren't completely oblivious. And that day she'd felt eyes on her while she was bathing. She'd turned around to find Gregory standing at the back window of his house, openly staring at her. At first, Cecelia let her eyes glaze over him, pretending like she didn't see, giving him the chance to maybe give her the privacy she deserved, like every other man and woman at Hilltop managed to do. But he didn't take the opportunity, and she turned, dropping her hands from her wet hair, staring at him. Cecelia cocked her head, and he scrambled away from the window.

As quickly as she could, she finished her shower, dressing, her clothes sticking to her wet body, and went looking for him. But the fucking milk-toasty piece of shit was nowhere to be found. The other women at Hilltop had mentioned things like this to her, but she never thought he'd be so blatant, so bold.

That had been the breaking point.

The Alexandrian's chose to stay the night at Hilltop and leave once Maggie was stabilized. As Cecelia left Dr. Carson's room in the house, she walked outside into the cool of the night. To her left, she saw Rick standing in the shadows. The rest of his group were either camped out in or around the RV that was parked near the house, and he appeared to be taking watch.

"Hey," she greeted him, stepping down off the porch of the home.

Rick straightened up. He seemed a bit shaken up, and she wasn't sure what to say. She was bad at being warm and comforting, it was the part of being a woman she couldn't seem to grasp. So she settled with a simple. "I heard about what happened, and I'm sorry."

Rick shook his head. "Well, you were right. And we finally met Negan."

"He's a piece of shit," Cecelia stated, and Rick silently agreed.

Pausing, she looked around them, where a few of his group members were scattered throughout their camp, sleeping or crying or comforting one another. She was pretty sure she'd look like a bitch for bringing this up now, but there were no other opportunities for her to do so.

"This is bad timing," she stepped closer. "But I have to ask something."

Rick tilted his head, and she continued. "Daryl and I talked the last time you were here. And he said you might consider letting me live in Alexandria."

Rick's brows knit together, and he looked a bit miffed. "Why?"

"I gotta get the fuck out of here. Gregory is..." she shook her head. She hadn't mentioned recent events to Francis, so it just started to pour out, and she grew angry. "I'm sure you think I'm the crazy one. But Gregory's a child and a pervert. And if I have to keep living with him, It'll end badly."

Rick's eyes widened.

"I mean," Cecelia shook her head. "Not like that. But, he's awful, and I can't live here anymore." She spoke quickly.

Rick pondered this for awhile.

"Also, Francis and I are a package deal," she explained.

Rick's dazzling blue eyes met hers, and he stared at her until she felt uncomfortable, but she didn't look away. He let out a sigh.

"You have to audition to live at Alexandria. And everyone has a job to do."

Cecelia nodded, feeling her heart race pick up. "If you'd like, we can take you back once Maggie is feeling better. And Francis can come, too."

She released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank you," she breathed.

"It's no problem. I noticed you and Gregory don't seem to get along," Rick observed.

Cecelia nodded. "He's not the best leader, is all." She decided to leave it at that. Maybe someday she could go into detail, but she didn't feel like reliving the incident.

"Before you come, though," he said. "You have to tell me exactly what it is you're doing with Negan."

Cecelia closed her eyes. "I'm trading, like you do with him. But with rather nontraditional things."

"What does that mean?" asked Rick, crossing his arms.

"He took Francis from us, just to use as leverage. I used to work as a chemist in a research lab. In return for Francis' and I's safety, I told him I'd make whatever drugs or pharmaceuticals he needed. And not many people have that ability, or access to that kind of skill." Cecelia decided not to tell him there would probably be times she was cooking illegal drugs while in Alexandria. But they weren't actually illegal anymore, so she supposed it wouldn't matter. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Rick nodded, seeming a bit relaxed after her explanation. "And would you do that for us?"

Cecelia nodded. "Whatever you need."

* * *

So now, a few days later, after auditioning and settling in, Cecelia was trying her best to cook what she could with the supplies she had in her kitchen. She needed to go on a run to get more, there was a university not far away, and she knew their science and biology departments would have what she required. But she felt uncomfortable asking any of the Alexandrians so soon. She didn't even know when Negan would come, once he found out she was here.

Cecelia stared out the front window of her new home in Alexandria. She felt like she was a suburban mom, waiting for her husband to get home from work, her kids to come stumbling up the porch steps from school. It didn't feel like the world was ending. Families walked up and down the street. There weren't many young children, but the normalcy felt foreign. The only reality check were the steel walls surrounding them, and the guns and weapons most of the residents carried on them.

They were in a different house than the one they'd first stayed in, it had a large kitchen, which worked well, and three upstairs bedrooms. There was a spacious porch and a living room off the kitchen. The ample windows were nice, Cecelia liked to be able to see who was approaching the house, despite the fact that she now felt safe in Alexandria. They lived next to the house that served as an infirmary, where a young woman named Tara lived, alone besides the injured that moved in and out. Apparently, they had just lost their only doctor.

For a few days after their return, the town seemed quiet, a bit uneasy, now that the reality of Negan's reign had set in for them. Hilltop had been that way at first, too, but soon after things resumed. It was just the reality of life, if you were under his influence. And as long as you delivered, there were never any issues. A week after she'd arrived, there was still tension, but it wasn't as palpable.

Things had died down enough that the Alexandrians were having a small gathering, that's what Jesus told her and Francis. She had no interest in going, but Jesus was incessant. He insisted it was their way of forming a strong community, and rapport amongst it's residents.

"Please, Cecelia." He pleaded. "It'll be a good way to meet everyone, make new friends. If you're antisocial they may kick you out."

Cecelia didn't believe his bullshit. "I don't need friends," she rolled her eyes. "I already have Francis..." she trailed off a moment, locking eyes with him. Jesus stared blankly at her. "And," she continued. "You're my friend, I guess."

Jesus rolled his eyes back at her. "I think they may have alcohol."

Cecelia bit her lower lip. She hadn't drank in awhile, a cold beer sounded amazing in the humid heat of summer. "How long do I have to stay?"

"Not long," he assured her. "Just for an hour or so."

She looked over at Francis. "What do you think?"

"I'm going," Francis answered, which surprised her. She turned back to Jesus.

"Fine," she took in a sigh. "But you better have a cold Budweiser in my hand the moment I walk in."

Jesus, looking irked, let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't make promises. Just put on your best fake smile and suffer through it."

* * *

Cecelia was incapable of smiling, let alone fake-smiling, so the minute she walked in the party that evening, she stayed towards the outskirts of conversations. It seemed very strange to her. She had been okay at socializing before everything, but she was used to riding along with Ari's charm and charisma. Cecelia, liked sticking close to him, he could break the ice, and he always seemed to have mutual friends. But alone in a crowd, she just felt confused.

Jesus whisked her and Francis around the room. She met new people and greeted familiar faces. After about a half hour of suffering, she finally snuck off to the back porch. Francis was sticking with Paul, which made sense, but still was unexpected.

She sat on the back porch of the home with a glass of red wine. She wasn't a big fan of wine. She used to be, but for whatever reason it made her feel sleepy and sad rather than sophisticated and grown-up, like it used to. Before she graduated from college, she'd only ever been exposed to sickeningly sweet bottles of moscato that were always a couple bucks at the drugstore. Then when she could afford a bit more, she'd watch soap operas and get drunk in her apartment alone on Friday nights. Cecelia had loved the sounds of the city bustling below her, even into the early hours of the morning.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden porch drew her away from her reminiscing, and she turned around to see Daryl behind her. She nodded at him, and moved to the side of the steps she was sitting on so he could pass.

"What'r ya doin' out here?" he asked her, and she shrugged.

"Just needed to breathe," she said, looking out towards the backyard and the large fence beyond that. She turned her body slightly so she was leaning against the railing of the porch, facing him a bit more. The truth was, she didn't want to talk, but she felt rude to have her back to him. She had a poor habit of being blatantly mean to anyone for no real reason other than her own unhappiness, and his intentions didn't seem malicious. Plus, Daryl was the reason she was in Alexandria in the first place. Cecelia watched him fumble in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

"Want a smoke?" he asked, offering her the pack.

Cecelia wasn't much of a smoker. Sometimes she would have a puff or two of Ari's that he always had sent over from his family in Cuba, but she didn't really get the appeal. Her mother smoked cigarettes and she grew up to abhor their cheap, musky smell, as it sunk in and penetrated every surface of their tiny home, and never released itself from her clothing no matter how many times she washed it. However, because her head was fuzzy from the wine, Cecelia nodded and pulled one out of the pack.

He helped her light it and she leaned back, puffing. Daryl lit his own cigarette and she leaned back, coughing after inhaling. Cecelia cleared her throat.

"You don't smoke, do ya?" Daryl asked, and she blinked, shaking her head no.

"Not really," she coughed again, watching the thin veil of smoke waft upwards and dissipate into the night air.

It took her a few puffs before she relaxed and stopped hacking. Daryl didn't really say much to her, which she appreciated.

"How's the wine?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Cecelia shrugged. "It's alright. I'm more of a beer person myself."

Daryl grunted. "Me too."

He was quiet, like her. Once in conversation, Cecelia didn't mind talking. It was starting it that she hated. And she didn't know whether to embrace the awkward silence between them or speak up. She decided on the latter.

"You been with Rick awhile?" she asked.

Daryl nodded. "Since tha beginnin'."

Cecelia raised her eyebrows and pursued her lips, taking another drag and sipping some wine.

"How long were ya'll at Hilltop?" he asked.

"Couple of months, but I was with Paul and Francis before then."

"Paul?" Daryl asked, looking confused.

"Jesus," she corrected herself. "God, I hate that fucking nickname," she mumbled under her breath. There was a reason she never called him anything other than Paul. Daryl chuckled, which took her off guard. "I'm not religious or anything," she explained. "It's just obnoxious."

Pulling up a deck chair, Daryl sat across from her.

"I'm not usually antisocial," she explained, the wine suddenly taking over her normally reticent demeanor. "Well, yeah I am. But this is weird." She gestured to the house, where soft jazz music was playing. Through the window, she saw Jessie Anderson, who lived in the house, hanging on Rick's arm. Beyond her, Michonne stared at them with a straight face, looking disinterested in the conversation she was having with someone else. Paul was talking to a pretty, dark haired woman she'd been introduced to earlier named Rosita, while Francis stood beside them, smiling weakly but still looking intently at her.

"We haven't been 'ere too long," Daryl responded. "It always feels weird. I try to git outta here much as I can." He had a heavy southern accent, more gruff and quite unlike Rick's smooth drawl.

Hearing this, Cecelia straightened up. "Like, on supply runs?"

Daryl nodded. "Why?"

"I don't know yet, but, I need supplies. The next time you leave, could I tag along?"

Shrugging, Daryl put out his cigarette, which made her realize hers was burning close to her fingertips. Cecelia flicked it into the yard, where she watched it die out in the grass. Daryl seemed skeptical.

"Look, I know what it's like out there, I wouldn't be a burden."

"That's not it," he cleared his throat. "We probably won't be leavin' here for awhile. Not with the Saviors all around us."

Frustrated, Cecelia leaned back against the wood railing and furrowed her brows.

"Whaddya need?"

Yawning, Cecelia shook her head. "Don't worry about it." Rising to her feet, she straightened the loose shirt she'd thrown on. She had been underdressed to the gathering, but she didn't really care. As if something that trivial mattered. "I gotta get going," she said. "Thanks for the smoke."

Daryl simply nodded as she retreated back inside.

* * *

 **I am a perfectionist and I rewrote the first half of this chapter like 3 times. I'm still not completely satisfied, but it was the best I could do. However! I got a lot of Negan coming up in the future!**

 **Please let me know what you think, I love your opinions!**


	7. Chapter 7

**CW: Language**

* * *

Life at Alexandria wasn't hard to get used to. Running water, coffee in the mornings and the protection of sturdy walls and lots of citizens made Cecelia feel safe. The only thing the community didn't have was food, which wasn't a surprise. Things were heavily rationed out to them, but she made it work, despite the constant grumble of her stomach.

It was only a few weeks after her arrival that Cecelia stood in her makeshift lab. The gas stove had become a slightly unreliable Bunsen Burner, and she had a small area where she was incubating some moldy fruit to try and make penicillin. She hadn't been able to get a whole lot done, and she had spent most of her time coming up with a list go things she needed based on Negan's own list.

She heard a knock on the front door and peered cautiously through the front door, surprised to see Daryl on the other side. While Cecelia didn't care much to interact with the residents in Alexandria, she like observing from her front window, and she got the impression that Daryl preferred to keep to herself from what she'd seen. He seemed to be closer to Michonne and Rick and their tight-knit group. She didn't know everyone's story, but she guessed they'd all been together for awhile.

Cecelia opened the door and gave him a confused look. He looked uncomfortable, and she tilted her head.

"Hey," He grunted, Cecelia nodded.

"I just wanted ta say," he mumbled. "Sometime next week we're goin' on a run. Thought you might wanta know."

Cecelia straightened up, interested. "Oh?"

Daryl took in a deep breath, looking around him nervously. "Can I come in for a bit? I want to talk to ya about something."

"Uh," Cecelia looked at the disarray of beakers, volumetric flasks and test tubes on her counter over her shoulder. It was a jumble, but she figured he wouldn't mind. After all, this was technically her workplace, she didn't have anything to be ashamed of. "Yeah, I guess that's fine. It's a bit messy."

She wasn't sure why he was acting so uncomfortable, but he followed her inside and stared at the covered counter.

"Can I help you?" she asked, closing the front door behind her and walking towards where he was.

"I don't know what yer doin' here," he said flatly. "But I know what yer doin' with Negan." Cecelia felt her brows pull together, and he continued. "We've been through a lot. And this better not get us in trouble with him."

Cecelia felt the anger rise in her chest, but she took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself.

"What I'm Negan is none of your business," she began, staring at him earnestly. While she loved to argue, a horrific flaw she had, she knew his confrontation was coming from a place of concern. "It's something I had to do to save my Francis' life." she explained. "But it's not going to get you into trouble, so you have nothing to worry about."

Daryl seemed to relax slightly, surveying the room around him. "Good."

"Is that all you wanted?" Cecelia asked.

Daryl nodded. "So, what exactly do ya got goin' on here?" he gestured towards the mess.

Cecelia was taken aback that he wanted to have a conversation, but she didn't mind. She could talk about chemistry all day. It was one of her first loves.

"Well," she smirked to herself. "A lot actually. I have a whole list of stuff Negan wants from me, stuff for Hilltop, stuff for Alexandria. But the problem is my setup isn't exactly great for some of the things I have to cook. And just in general, there's a lot of chemicals I need that I'll probably only be able to find in a chem lab."

Daryl grunted.

"Anyways," Cecelia continued. "Right now I'm trying to make penicillin," she pointed to the area of the counter that was covered in black fabric. The mold on the fruit grew faster in the dark. "It's an antibiotic you can make from certain types of mold. It causes lysis in bacteria."

Daryl just stared at her. She couldn't tell whether he was interested or just humoring her, or confused.

"Oh," she continued. "Lysis is the breakdown of a cell wall. Which essentially destroys the bacteria." Cecelia realized she was rambling and stopped herself. "But yeah, that's about all there is going on."

Before he could answer the walkie-talkie crackled to life on his hip. It sounded like Rick's voice, slightly panicked.

Daryl jerked the device from his hip to his ear, turning up the volume and moving his attention away from her.

"Daryl, we need you, The Saviors are here," she heard Rick's muffled voice and the sharp crack as the transmission ended.

Cecelia widened her eyes. "You probably should go deal with that," she said to Daryl, and he was already backing away from her towards the door, cursing vehemently under his breath.

As soon as he disappeared out the door Cecelia slumped against the counter for support, heart racing. If the Saviors were here, they may know she was here, and would be expecting the items from Negan's list. She racked her brain for some way to get out of it but came up with nothing. Her only sliver of hope remained in the belief that Negan hadn't been to Hilltop yet and didn't know she was here.

About 30 minutes passed. She was far enough away from the entrance to Alexandria that she didn't know if everything was going smoothly with the Saviors. But she hadn't heard any commotion or gunshots, so she hoped it was just a trade. Cecelia sat, resting her elbows on the kitchen table, her hands covering her eyes. For a brief second, she glanced upwards, doing a double-take when she saw Negan striding towards her house. A few other Alexandrian's were peaking out from their front porches as he strode towards the home with confidence. Two Saviors she'd never seen before trailed behind him, and she was slightly confused, as she didn't see Negan's trusty baseball bat with him.

Cecelia stood up and stood back at the kitchen counter, pretending to work, carefully spinning a volumetric flask in her hand as if she was mixing something together. As she expected, the door opened with no warning, and Negan came striding through.

"Cecelia," he called her name as he spotted her, and she glanced up from her 'work.' She nodded at him in greeting, trying to remain calm, acting composed.

"Negan," she greeted, setting down the flask. "What are you doing here?"

She noticed his men remained on the front porch, surveying the front yard, keeping watch.

"I think I should ask you that question," he smirked at her, striding forward. "I fucking missed you at Hilltop, sweetheart."

Cecelia shrugged. "I'm here now."

"Sure as shit you are," he grinned, clasping together his leather-gloved hands. "I thought since I was picking up my fucking half of Rick The Prick's supplies this month, I'd pay you a visit and get what I needed myself."

Negan paused in front of the counter, looking over the spread of glassware. "You should have told me you fucking moved here. I was looking forward to seeing your pretty fucking ass but instead I had to talk to that motherfucking pussy Gregory."

Cecelia had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "That motherfucking pussy is why I left." she answered, turning around to rinse some dirty beakers in the sink.

"I'm sorry to hear you weren't having a grand fuckin' time. You know you can always come home with me to The Sanctuary and settle down," he sat down at a stool across from her.

Cecelia crossed her arms, smiling stiffly. "Tempting," Cecelia said sarcastically.

Negan seemed to grow tired of the forced banter and leaned forward. "I assume you have everything I asked for?" he said, standing up. Cecelia followed him with her eyes.

"Well," she began. "I have some, but not quite everything."

Negan's faux-friendly smiled disappeared and he grew serious. "We talked about this," he stated. "If it's not all here, then what the fuck am I doing business with you for?"

Cecelia nodded, ignoring her flipping stomach. "You know, I do recall this conversation actually. The same one where you realized I'm the only fucking cook you know of. Beggars can't be choosers, can they?"

Negan's nose twitched with frustration, she'd hit a nerve, and he began walking around the counter towards her. He paused, reaching out to touch the black cloth under which held the mold she was growing.

"Don't touch that," for a moment she forgot where she was, who she was with and what he was capable of, and she reached out to smack his hand away from her setup. Cecelia always got lost in her work, protective. But it was as if she was reprimanding Ari for messing up an experiment the one time she'd brought him to work. She had forgotten that it was Negan.

Negan was too quick, however, and he grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, his gloved hand wrapping easily around it's circumference. "And what's so fucking important under there?"

Cecelia glared at him from under her eyelashes. "That's soon to be penicillin. If you expose it to light it doesn't grow as quickly." she paused, but was unable to bite her tongue. "But I wouldn't expect you to know that."

Men hate to have their intelligence insulted. Especially by a woman. While she saw the flare of anger flash across his eyes, he surprised her by continuing on.

"What's your excuse, honey?" he asked, not breaking eye contact, yanking her closer to him. "Where is everything?"

"I told you," she finally managed to release herself from his grasp. "I don't have access to what I need. I need to go on a run, and I can't do it alone."

Negan watched her move away from him, and she went back to her position behind the counter. He stood perpendicular, studying her.

"Well," he said. "I guess you can't keep having a reason to evade your responsibilities. Next week, I'll have someone come by to help you get what you need."

The idea of going out into the open with any of the Saviors sounded equal parts terrifying and pathetic. Negan had a bit of civility and manners, as crazy as it sounded. His Saviors on the other hand, lacked anything that remotely involved courtesy.

"No thanks," she said, running her fingers through her hair, not looking at him, pretending to be preoccupied. "I'm going with Daryl next week, anyways."

She heard his boots thunking on the hardwood floor as he neared her. "No," he said standing close to her again, leaning with his back against the counter. "Cecelia, this isn't a fucking negotiation. We either do things my way, or we don't fuckin' do them at all. I'll kill your pussy boyfriend, and find myself another cook."

"For the last time," she tilted her head, refusing to look at him. "I don't have a boyfriend. "

"Well then," he chuckled, pushing himself off the counter and moving behind her. "I guess it's a fucking lucky day for me."

To Cecelia's horror, she felt Negan's gloved hands come up to press firmly on her shoulders. Her entire body was rigid, as his hands worked against the knots in her back, his hips pinning hers against the hard granite, her ass pressed against his crotch. Once she realized his touch wasn't aggressive, her body betrayed her mind, and she relaxed against the soothing massage. It'd been ages, ages, since she'd been touched, let alone so sensually by an objectively attractive man. For a second, it didn't matter that he was the scum of the earth. His embrace felt good and she succumbed to the pleasure.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, and Cecelia felt his breath tickle her neck. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, she was roused to her very core. Over and over, she repeated to herself that she was repulsed, but as one of his hands dropped to settle against her waist, she let out an involuntary whimper. "You're all wound up," his stubble brushed against her ear as her eyes fluttered closed. Behind her eyelids, Ari stared back at her, and that snapped her out of the trance.

"That's enough," she said as calmly as she could manage, her cheeks flushing as she pushed him away.

Satisfied, he chuckled. "See, sweetheart? I know you like me more than you say."

Cecelia regained control of herself, returning to the blasé approach she had favored with him. "You got me," she shrugged, watching the smile fall from his face. He had gotten enough out of this, she wasn't going to allow him anymore amusement.

"Well," he chuckled as he moved away. "You got a free pass this time, because I fucking like you. But next week you better be fucking ready to go. I'll send someone for you."

Cecelia pressed her lips together. She felt embarrassed and defeated as she watched him walk out the door, not even responding to his goodbye. There had to be a better way.

* * *

 **So, I gotta lot of updates for ya! Please read if you can.**

 **I have a lot going on in the next few weeks, I just moved back to school, so I am adjusting and classes and extracurriculars and work are all going to be heating up. I don't expect this semester to be crazy, but the first few weeks may be, so bear with me if updates are scarce, I'm not going anywhere!**

 **In other news, if you know me you may know a lot of inspiration I get to write comes from music. I made a playlist for Lie Low, but I am currently working on putting together a playlist for The Ghosts, The Walls, The Dreams. Just search Marisa Allena on YouTube and you should find it! Give it a listen, I don't want to brag but I think I have a great taste in music... ;) Let me know what ya think.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Content Warning: Some suicidal thoughts**

 **So I made a huge mistake and posted the wrong document for chapter 9. It's really embarrassing because I also posted it on A3O but I used the right document. Basically I am an idiot and didn't realize I messed up until today, like 3 weeks after I posted the wrong chapter, which I wasn't sure would ever be a part of this story at all, it was just a writing exercise that helps me dev. my OC's, and it wasn't edited. I'm literally cringing into oblivion right now, and don't know how to apologize for that happening. Disregard it and pretend you didn't read it. This is THE REAL chapter 9.**

* * *

Cecelia stepped off the front porch and began walking at a brisk pace towards the front of Alexandria. The commotion she had heard a bit ago could only mean one thing - the Saviors were here for her. This premonition was answered when she turned the corner and saw none other than Negan himself standing at the front gates with the goddamn baseball bat he was so obsessed with. Lucille, she was called.

Truthfully, Cecelia hadn't expected Negan to come. She knew very little about how far his sphere of influence went, how many communities were subject to his presence and bullshit rules, but he must have not been as busy as he thought if he'd come to take her. He had brought quite a few of his minions with him, Dwight, she recognized, the man whose face had been gnarled by some sort of burn, and a few others. Negan would have been stupid to go without protection, especially seeing as Rick appeared to be planning some sort of counter-attack. She knew very little about it besides the murmurs from Jesus and the other residents.

As usual, she didn't feel like dealing with Negan. He was a strange mixture of charming and awful, and interacting with him took more effort than she cared to give. To begin with, she hated conversation, and she hated that she had to pretend to be unaffected by his sexual innuendos or unwarranted displays of affection. It was not only embarrassing, but her head was still clouded with guilt nearly a week after he'd touched her last. She was a human being, she knew, it was normal to have reacted the way she did after being deprived of sex, let alone an affectionate embrace. But she still thought of Ari, and her gut twisted.

Cecelia approached Negan, trying her best to remain unsurprised and uninterested. As she neared him, he locked eyes with her and his face lit up. It seemed she'd never really be able to know what kind of mood he'd be in when they first met.

He held his arms out to her as if she'd willingly walk into his embrace but she stopped short and stared at him.

"Well, fuck," he exclaimed. "Don't act so happy to see me."

"I thought you'd be too busy for something like this," Cecelia tilted her head, and she wasn't lying.

He chuckled, swinging his baseball bat and resting it on his shoulder. She held back a flinch, unsure of how quickly his demeanor could change and sure that'd she would be dead on the ground in a second if it did. Today she had to be careful about how she played her cards.

Regardless, Cecelia didn't care if she died or not. There wasn't much of a point to her life since Ari was gone, and the only thing that kept her motivated to live, to behave around Negan, was Francis. She didn't want him to die, he didn't deserve that.

The Alexandrians idled around, pretending they were working but shooting nervous glances over at Negan's direction. He'd brought three cars and plenty of The Saviors with him.

"Come on," Negan cocked his head, reaching out to pull Cecelia under his arm, a gloved hand squeezing her shoulder. She didn't resist the contact, inhaling the scent of his leather jacket and pine-y, masculine odor. "You're riding with me."

Negan's car was a new, shiny black truck. It made sense that he'd drive this thing around. She stepped into the passenger's side, sitting in the searing hot black leather seat, uncomfortable.

"Nice truck," she said sarcastically as he got in beside her.

"It might be a little hot," he ignored her quip. "But it has air conditioning."

For a moment, Cecelia's materialistic side took over. _Air conditioning._ The words seemed foreign to her. Here in Virginia, it was mostly humid and warm, especially now during the summer. Even the homes in Alexandria didn't have air conditioning. If she got anything out of this trip, it may be a few moments of comfort in a cool car.

Negan didn't say much, and Cecelia buckled up for fear he might try to brake check her or purposely wreck the truck to kill her. That was probably a stretch, but she'd rather be safe. He handed her Lucille.

"What the hell?" she asked.

He nodded towards the floor on her side. "Keep her safe."

Awkwardly, she placed the barbed bat in between her legs and furrowed her brow. His obsession with the thing was unhealthy.

She gave him directions and he relayed them to whoever was leading their entourage via walkie-talkie, then drove manically out of the gates of Alexandria. Gripping her armrest like a lifeline, Cecelia looked over her shoulder at her new home disappearing behind them. As soon as it was out of her view, Negan slowed down his speed to something more reasonable. They had about a two hour drive to get to the lab they'd be taking the materials from.

It was silent for the first few minutes, until Negan clicked on the stereo, clicking through songs on what appeared to be a mixtape.

"You care if I listen to music?" he asked.

"No," she answered. She figured he'd be into some country shit, which her childhood had spoiled for her, and she braced herself for the impact, but was surprised when the opening guitar riff rang out.

 _Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner_  
 _Sometimes I feel like my only friend_  
 _Is the city I live in, the city of angels_  
 _Lonely as I am, together we cry_

Cecelia was suddenly no longer in a truck with Negan living in her personal hell. She sat in the orange, shag-carpeted basement of her high school boyfriend Michael's house, who put a needle on a record and let it play, turning back to her with a smile. She held a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in her hand, her head fuzzy from the alcohol, as she leaned into his shoulder after returning to her side.

She had always been so focused on school, homework, and taking care of her siblings, that when one of the most popular boys in school had asked her to a party at his house, she'd nearly lost herself in stupid, girlish excitement. He turned out to be a shitty boyfriend, but she'd always remember him fondly for introducing her to good music.

 _I drive on her streets 'cause she's my companion_  
 _I walk through her hills 'cause she knows who I am_  
 _She sees my good deeds and she kisses me windy_  
 _I never worry, now that is a lie_

 _I don't ever want to feel like I did that day_  
 _Take me to the place I love, take me all the way_  
 _I don't ever want to feel like I did that day_  
 _Take me to the place I love, take me all the way_

Staring out the window of the car and watching the woods pass in a fern-colored blur, Cecelia didn't realize she was singing along softly until Negan interrupted her. "Jesus Christ," he chuckled. "I didn't peg someone who has such a massive stick up their ass to be a Red Hot Chili Peppers fan." He paused. "I'm surprised it didn't blow the classical music out your ass."

Cecelia furrowed her brow, upset to be pulled out of her nostalgia, and disturbed by the mental photo he'd just painted, but turned to him regardless. "You think you've got me all figured out," she sneered. "You don't know anything about who I am."

She'd hoped her attitude would shut him up, or at least change the subject, but he perplexed her with his response. The song ended, and changed to something she didn't recognize.

"It's never to late to find out," he said, turning to her with a grin. Cecelia's nose wrinkled in reply.

"Are you seriously hitting on me right now?" she asked, bewildered.

He laughed out loud. "What? Can you fucking blame me? I'm an attractive man, you're an attractive woman."

Cecelia just turned away from him and scoffed. He thought he was attractive, that was hilarious.

Negan continued on, not seeming to get the hint. "Listen, if I didn't take your boyfriend or whatever-the-fuck-he-is away, and we didn't meet in the circumstances we fuckin' did, I think you'd be attracted to me."

He did have a point, though she'd never admit it. He was objectively attractive, masculine and strong, with dark hair and bright eyes, a nice beard. She'd always had a weakness for facial hair, she didn't know why. What made him unattractive was his personality, what he was capable of, the things he'd done. "I'm married," Cecelia answered flatly.

"And where's your fucking husband again?" Negan questioned, his tone stern.

Immediately Cecelia's hands clenched into fists. Her long nails she'd neglected to trim dug into her palms, leaving indentations behind as she loosened her grip. "Shut the fuck up," she growled, but her voice cracked as tears stung the back of her eyes.

"Ah," Negan looked over at her, and she refused to meet his gaze, staring straight ahead. "I hit a nerve, didn't I?"

Cecelia didn't respond, turning her head away, trying to forget what'd he'd said so she wouldn't cry. It was stupid that nearly a year later she couldn't think about Ari for extended periods of time without losing it, but she would never love the same again. She'd never feel the same comfort and security and happiness she had shared with him. And she was pissed because Negan was right. He'd hit a nerve, and she hated that nerve was still exposed.

They were silent, and she refused to talk for the rest of the car ride.

"Hey," Negan said after a long stretch of silence, reaching across the center console. His gloved hand cupped her chin, he forced her to look at him. "I lost my wife, too. But she's fucking gone, and so is your husband."

Was this supposed to be an apology? She glared at him with fire in her eyes as he waited for her response. "Pay attention to the road," she said, pushing his hand away.

Negan rolled his eyes, turning back towards the road, muttering under his breath. "Fucking ridiculous."

Cecelia ignored his remark and concentrated on her breathing to regain control of her emotions. Eventually, the sadness and vulnerability turned to anger, and she focused on Lucille between her legs.

"Your wife must have not meant that much to you," she said, grabbing the rounded end of the baseball bat handle, running her thumb over the smooth grain of the wood. "If you have a harem of women waiting for you back at the Sanctuary."

Negan shrugged. "I've never been a one woman type of man. Even my fucking wife knew that."

"So why even get married?" Cecelia challenged, and he just shrugged again.

She was hoping for her first remark to hurt like he'd hurt her, so she tried another tactic. This one wasn't as safe, but the anger still burned in her chest like a fire, the smoke clouding her judgement.

"It wasn't the best idea for you to bring me with you," she began. "Alone in this car, with your most prized possession," with her words she lifted Lucille upright and watched his face go from confusion to terror as he slammed on the brakes. The force surprised Cecelia, who lost her grip on the weapon just as he turned to her grabbing it from her hands and facing the barbed wire end towards her.

"Are you fucking insane?!" he asked. "If I could swing her as far as I needed in this car, you'd be dead."

"Please," she hissed, pressing her forehead against the barbs on the end, feeling them pierce her skin. She heard his walkie-talkie crackle to life, his men asking if he was okay. "Just do it already."

Negan pulled the baseball bat aware from her pressure and tossed it in the back seat. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Cecelia smirked. "It was just a joke, Jesus Christ," she turned away from him and settled back against the seat, the fire fading since she'd gotten the rise that she wanted. All she needed was for him to lose his cool. She wiped her forehead, relieved to find she wasn't bleeding.

Negan put the car in drive, answering the walkie-talkie. "Everything's fucking fine," he grimaced, and Cecelia overhead their relieved responses as he began to pick up speed again. She let out a relieved sigh he'd controlled his anger and she hadn't been seriously injured.

After a few moments Cecelia felt Negan's eyes on her. "You'll come around," he said.

Cecelia knew she wouldn't.

* * *

 **Hey all! I know it's been awhile. I have my life back now so I should be posting more regularly. I am like super over-involved on campus so sometimes I get swamped but in general I should be more on top of things.**

 **Don't forget to check out this story's playlist. Just search Marisa Allena on YouTube and it comes up! I am also working on a Star Wars Poe/OC fic so stay tuned for that. I've been workshopping it so it should be up within the month.**

 **Let me know how you are doing, and how you liked the chapter!** **I watched Stranger Things while I was** **gone, have any of you watched that? It's amazing.** **Next up will be the rest of the run with Negan, and more Daryl/OC interaction beyond that. Please drop me a line!**


	9. Chapter 9

The two hour drive with Negan wasn't as completely grueling as Cecelia expected. After a while he got tired of trying to get her riled up and was quiet. They were headed towards a small community college. It wasn't much, but Cecelia knew she could get what she needed in their chemistry department.

Cecelia stepped out of the truck and looked at the brick building in front of her. This was it. Navigating the inside, she knew, would be difficult, but since Negan practically had brought a parade of Saviors, it shouldn't be too bad. They had numbers, which was a plus.

Negan stepped beside her. "You know everything you need?" he asked, propping Lucille on his shoulder and looking her direction. It was so strange to her when something he said was an honest and genuine statement, not dripping in layers of sarcasm or a sexual innuendo. She wondered if he'd always been that way, before the outbreak, or if the power he held now changed him into the monster he was.

"Yeah," Cecelia nodded.

Negan took a handgun from one of his men who offered it to him, and he turned to Cecelia. "You know how to shoot a gun?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah, who doesn't?" she asked.

"Take this, just in case," he said offering it towards her with his hand around the barrel. "But no funny business, I know you're fucking crazy."

It could have been easy to shoot Negan and end everything right there. But as much as he may have thought she was crazy, Cecelia wasn't an idiot. If she shot him, she'd surely be killed. And he knew that, too.

They entered with caution, and some of Negan's men stayed behind to guard the entrance. The other men walked ahead of them, scoping out rooms and hallways and killing any walkers they found.

"Must be nice to have such a posse to do all your dirty work," Cecelia noted aloud, not even being sarcastic. Truthfully, it was nice, and she didn't have to deal with the normal anxiety and panic that usually ensued when a walker came out of some dark and dingy room with outstretched, rotting arms.

"It's not so bad to be me," Negan chuckled. "I told you."

"Well, I've always been alone, so this is new to me," she said flatly.

"What about Hilltop?" he asked.

"That was relatively new," she answered. "Not really a place I liked to be anyhow. Alexandria is nice, I can keep to myself there."

"You don't mind being under the reign of Rick the Prick?" Negan scoffed.

Cecelia shrugged. "I don't know Rick too well. He seems nice enough, and he isn't a pervert like Gregory ended up being."

"I could have told you that Gregory was a pervert the second a met him," Negan chuckled.

"Do you really think you're one to talk?" Cecelia wrinkled her nose.

"It's different," Negan answered, and Cecelia let it go. They were starting to get too chummy, she didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

After a bit of wandering around and scoping out the place, they found the lab where the chemicals were held. Negan's men helped her gather what they need it and store it safely in the bags and container's they'd brought along. She grabbed some goggles, gloves, and lab coats for good measure. She'd been using old clothes, but these would work way better.

Once she got everything she needed, they all began to move back out of the building. She was relieved that after today she probably wouldn't have to see Negan as often, just to get him whatever drugs he needed.

As they were nearing the exit of the building, a sudden commotion outside made Negan's men snap to attention, and gunshots ran out.

"Fucking fuck," Negan mumbled under his breath. The Saviors with then ran outside towards the altercation without pausing, but Negan pulled Cecelia by the waist so she was up against the wall, pressed against him. "Stay the fuck close to me, okay?"

They were near the entrance of the building now, and Cecelia could see outside through the dirtied glass windows. Men in black clothes and masks, men she'd never seen before ran around with guns in their hands, and were actually doing decent damage to the Saviors that had come with her. It was amazing to Cecelia, but she was terrified at the same time, since she was in just as much danger.

One of the men in the black masks turned towards the glass doors, stepping closer, appearing to look inside. Negan yanked Cecelia out of the way, squatting with her behind what once was a welcome desk. She could see though a small crack in the wooden doorway. Cecelia's heart raced, and she found herself taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down.

Negan's hand was still on her waist, his breath on the nape of her neck, his smell of leather overpowering her. His gloved hand rested between the gap of skin between wear her pants ended and her shirt began, and he rubbed small circles there. She wasn't sure if it was meant to be comforting or he was trying to get a rise out of her, but neither strategy was working. A hot, burning blush was creeping its way up her neck and onto her face, she was becoming flustered. As soon as the man in the entranceway seemed to be satisfied that no one was inside, he ducked away and Cecelia broke away from Negan's grip.

"We have to get to the car," she tried to keep her voice even. This was becoming too much for her to handle, she needed to get out.

"Hold the fuck up," Negan whispered-yelled behind her, trying to grip her arm as she stood but only catching a small part of the fabric of her t-shirt, which stretched before snapping out of his grasp.

Cecelia clicked the safety off of her handgun and held it low as she exited the building, a bag of chemicals still over her shoulder. The men wearing black seemed to be retreating, but not without the expense of a couple Saviors who were unconscious on the ground.

As a bullet whizzed by her, Cecelia stayed low and ran towards Negan's truck, taking shelter behind it. She turned around, resting her back against one of the tires, remaining in a squat. It wasn't until movement in the woods in front of her caught her eye. One of the men in black stood, hidden partially by brush, a black bandana around his mouth. He raised a pistol and aimed it at her.

Negan suddenly cut in front of her, blocking the man in black from her vision. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, just as Cecelia pulled her gun on the man behind him.

Negan raised his hands in disbelief, betrayal crossing his face. "You really are fucking crazy, aren't you?"

"Get down," Cecelia hissed, cocking her head. The man behind them could kill them both at any time, and it was a miracle he hadn't yet. Negan finally got the hint and ducked away, just in time for Cecelia to shoot a bullet that ruffled the leaves at the feet of the villain. She'd never been the best shot, but it usually didn't matter because she wasn't shooting at people.

The man in black skittered backwards, lowering his weapon, but when he realized he was fine, yanked the bandana off his mouth. She recognized his wicked smile with horror. She'd never known his name. But she knew who he was, and who he belonged with. Never in a million years did she think she'd have to deal with them again.

"Fuck," she mumbled under her breath.

Because the other assailants were retreating, he just smiled at her and slowly backed away, pulling the bandana back over his mouth before disappearing into the woods, the group he was with doing the same.

"We have to leave," she said to Negan, offering her hand to help him stand up. "We have to leave now."

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart," he groaned, but Cecelia could care less what he called her. She looked nervously back at the woods as Negan retreated away to find Lucille.

"WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK WAS THAT?" Negan screamed at the Saviors, his boots crunching against the gravel, and Cecelia didn't even flinch as his men snapped back into order.

She wished there was an answer that would satisfy him. But nothing would, she knew. Because if he wasn't in control, he was losing. And right now, he was not in control.

Due to the circumstances, items were thrown haphazardly into the back seats of cars, and the injured were loaded as well. Luckily for The Saviors, no one had died, but a few men had been shot, though it didn't look like they were fatal injuries. There was no time for recon in case they were attacked again.

Cecelia could feel the anger radiating off of Negan as they drove away, but she was too unsettled to say anything. After about an hour of driving, and taking a completely different pathway to avoid being followed, some of his men had to stop for a break. As soon as the car halted, Negan unbuckled and hauled ass into the woods. She wasn't sure if he was still livid or relieving himself, but when ten minutes passed and he didn't return, she figured it was the latter.

"Hey," she began and turned to his men. "Is someone going to go and get him, or calm him down?" she asked.

"It's best to let him calm down on his own," said Dwight, who was drinking from a canteen, looking exhausted.

Cecelia shook her head. "What if someone's attacking him right now?"

They all shrugged.

"God dammnit," she groaned. "I'll just go."

As she trekked through the woods, she figured he couldn't have gone far. After a couple minutes of walking, she realized she was right, and she found him with his head in his hands sitting on a log in a clearing. Lucille lay bloodied in front of him, and the telltale smell of rotting flesh and a dismembered walker laying on the ground not far away seemed to be the unfortunate victim of one of his outbursts.

"Negan," she said flatly, and he looked up. He still looked mad, a fire burned in his eyes.

Cecelia sighed. _Why do I always have to be the good guy?_ She sat next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Do you think I'm fucking okay? I could have just fucking died out there because they weren't fucking paying attention!" he said, his tone frustrated and unforgiving, his voice getting louder as he spoke.

Cecelia nodded. "Raids happen a lot, and you can't do much to prevent them."

Negan rolled his eyes. "Why the fuck are you here right now?"

Cecelia bit the inside of her cheek. "I don't really know, actually," she said, and stood up. "But none of your men volunteered to come, so at least I can say that I tried to help."

The leaves under her feet crunched as she walked away. "Why the fuck didn't you shoot me when you had the chance?" he asked her, his voice loud, and she turned back around to face him. He had a smug look on his face, and sat up straighter.

"I guess I'm not fucking insane like you thought I was," she said, her voice flat. She knew that coming here was a mistake, that making a deal with him in the first place was a mistake.

Negan didn't respond, just stared at her.

"Anyways," Cecelia continued. "My ideal way to kill you would be in the middle of a clearing, with no one else around….so that way I'd have a chance to get away with it." She pushed her jacket back to reveal the gun on her hip.

Negan narrowed his eyes at her. "You fucking-"

"I'm kidding," she cut him off, and she watched the corner of his lip turn up in a half-smile. "Now are you done having your tantrum?"

Negan's face turned back into a scary grimace that made her unsettled.

"Look, if you're going to dish it out you've got to be able to take it," Cecelia explained. "And I really want to get home."

It still felt foreign to be friendly towards him, but it seemed like the only way to get through to him. She had to find the perfect mixture of wit and charm and being straight up mean. He seemed to like all those things combined. Cecelia just wanted to see Francis and remind herself why she was going through all this bullshit.

Negan approached her dragging Lucille along with him, and she thought he was going to follow her back towards the group, but instead he strode up to her, cupped her face in his free hand, and planted a firm kiss on her lips. It was short enough that Cecelia didn't have time to react, but long enough that even after he released her to walk on, she still tasted the peppermint, and her lips felt tingled and swollen.

"Let's fucking go," he growled over his shoulder.

* * *

 **Oh shit.** **What did you think of this chapter?**

 **Next up, Cecelia settles in at Alexandria and gets to know some residents...**


	10. Chapter 10

Back at Alexandria, Cecelia could finally start working with the supplies she'd been able to get. Working hard nonstop kept her mind off of all her concerns about the run earlier that week. Whenever she thought about it her stomach turned, so she jumped at every opportunity to distract herself.

Negan had dropped her off at the gates, but before she exited his car, he stopped her. He placed a firm hand on her knee and gave her a grin. "I hope we can do this again, sweetheart. I'll see you in a couple weeks."

The feeling of his hand on the inside of her leg made her feel flustered, but flustered was the perfect word for how she'd been feeling that entire day. Cecelia had merely pulled away from his grip and nodded. There was a dark side of her that didn't hate him, that almost enjoyed playing along with whatever game this was. He was charming, he was handsome. Those things were objectively true, and she wasn't going to try to convince herself otherwise at this point. She just couldn't let him get inside her head. The animal in her was sex-deprived and she had to remember that.

The logical side of her knew that the game would end sometime, she wasn't sure when or why. But he'd lose interest soon enough. He had a harem of woman back at his complex that all belonged to him. He could find another community and find another woman who interested him more than she did next week. What she needed to do was continue to be valuable. Be so valuable he had to keep her around.

Cecelia didn't want to know what was going to happen when Negan came around to Alexandria next. And the more she worked, the less she'd have to do. Eventually she'd be done with the list of drugs he needed, and she wouldn't have any more distractions. She could only do so much. Jesus was in and out, and Francis spent a lot of time on perimeter duty.

She had noticed that a lot of times he was relieved from his duties he'd walk back with a pretty, brown-haired woman. Cecelia wasn't sure of her name, she thought it might be Rosita, but she wasn't sure whether to ask Francis about it. They never seemed to be talking much, and they'd split ways and he's offer her a small wave. Still, it was slightly out-of-character, despite the fact it made Cecelia happy. If he was able to grow a little more without her always by his side, it was a step in the right direction.

Francis didn't know much about the situation between her and Negan. She didn't like to keep it from him, but she knew she'd have trouble explaining everything. It was just too complicated, and she didn't fully understand it herself.

The sun was setting now, and the clouds were pink against the burning orange sky. It was beautiful. As if on cue, she heard Francis' boots clack against the wooden stairs and she watched him through the front window. She was surprised to see Daryl behind him.

"Hey," she greeted Francis with the smile she only ever reserved for him when he walked through the door, stomping off his boots.

"Hey," Francis said casually, grinning back. Cecelia enjoyed seeing the more relaxed side of him. "Daryl's here," he noted as if she hadn't seen him step in behind.

"Hey Daryl," Cecelia greeted. Daryl was the only person who didn't make her super uncomfortable here. He tended to keep to himself and appeared to be close to Rick's group, and the few times they'd spoken didn't make Cecelia feel drained or exhausted.

Daryl gave her a nod, and after observing Francis take off his shoes, reached to do the same.

"You're fine," Cecelia said, stopping him. She took off the white coat she wore when she worked and washed her hands in the sink behind her. "Why are you here?" she asked. It may have come off as rude but she was honestly surprised he was standing in front of her in their home.

"Coupla' weeks ago you said you needed to go onna run," he said, clearing his throat. Cecelia got distracted temporarily by Francis jogging down the hall to take a shower before quickly turning back to Daryl. "Obviously Negan took ya last week, but I'm goin' out tomorrow if ya need anything else."

Cecelia nodded. "Uhm...I mean I think I have everything, but it wouldn't hurt to be on the lookout."

Daryl gave a curt nod in return. "Yeah, I think I'm takin' Rosita too. We're runnin' low on food, we don't got much and Negan just keeps taking more and more."

Cecelia knew this was true. Jesus, Francis, and her had all begun taking turns making dinner at night, but there wasn't much to make, they'd been living off Ramen Noodles for the past week or so, and she was starting to have flashbacks of her first few years in New York City, poor and hungry.

Being hungry wasn't uncommon, but Alexandria had spoiled her quite a bit. Now since they were running low on supplies, the adjustment to being hungry again was rough. It was strange how normal this life was to her now. Walkers weren't even the thing to be afraid of. It was just other people, and hunger, and illness.

Cecelia responded. "Yeah. I can come along. When are you leaving?"

"Earlier tomorrow, around nine. That okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Should I meet you at your house?"

"Sure," he confirmed, and Cecelia nodded.

For a moment the silence was awkward between them, and Daryl looked as though he was deciding whether to speak or to leave.

"Are you okay?" Daryl asked, and the question caught her off guard. Partly because she didn't know him that well, and partly because she couldn't remember the last time someone asked her that question.

"I'm fine," she answered quickly, out of instinct. "Why?"

"The way Negan always comes and talks to ya," Daryl began. "Just kinda rubbed me the wrong way. Wanted to make sure you were fine."

It made sense. She was always well aware of the stares of the Alexandrians when Negan was around. She knew they noticed how he paid special attention to her. Daryl obviously knew they had a deal, but she could understand how it may look to others. Truthfully, she didn't give a fuck what any of the Alexandrians thought of her. A lot of the ones who would stare were the gossipy women and not the people who actually helped run the community.

"Yeah," Cecelia forced a chuckle, laughing it off. "Everything is fine. I think he has a crush on me," she raised her eyebrows.

Daryl stared back, his brows pulling together underneath the hair that hung in his eyes.

"That was a joke," Cecelia said quickly when she saw his reaction. Her admission seemed to calm him down a bit, but he still didn't crack a smile. This was the sort of thing that happened when she tried to be charming.

"Yeah," she continued. "Anyways. I guess I'll see you at nin-"

Jesus burst into the door dramatically, scaring her slightly since she hadn't been paying attention to what was going on outside, and it was nearly dark.

"Hey Cece," he said, smiling as he walked in, pulling the beanie he usually wore off his head before kicking off his shoes. "Hey Daryl, what brings you here?"

Cecelia flinched at the nickname as he brushed past her to the kitchen. Daryl didn't even have time to answer because Paul continued on as if he had.

"It's my turn to make dinner tonight right?" Jesus poured himself a glass of water and drank the entire thing in a couple quick seconds. "Daryl, do you want to stay for dinner?"

Cecelia didn't really want Daryl to stay for dinner. Partly because she was embarrassed about their uncomfortable interaction and partly because she liked eating dinner with just Francis and Paul.

Francis padded into the room in a loose t-shirt, running his fingers through his dampened copper hair. "I thought dinner was my job tonight?" he asked.

"Is it?" Paul asked.

"I don't know," Francis shrugged. "I just know you'll make Ramen and I hate Ramen."

"It's not like we can be picky."

Francis nodded before turning on his heel and moving towards the family room, where he plopped down on the couch.

"Daryl, are you staying or not?" asked Paul.

Daryl seemed a bit overwhelmed by all the commotion, and in the moment, Cecelia felt for him, so she reached out. "You should answer him so he'll stop talking," she said flatly, hoping he'd get her humor this time. Luckily, he did offering a closed-mouthed grin.

"We can go sit in here until he's done," she tilted her head towards the family room.

Because Ramen noodles didn't take much time to make, within fifteen minutes they were crowded around the table. Paul even found a bottle of wine in the back of the cupboard that he opened and they poured into their glasses. They weren't wine glasses, so it looked pretty funny, but it was wine nonetheless.

As the night went on Daryl came out of his shell a little more, and so did Francis. Paul had a way about him, Cecelia had to admit, that always seemed to bring out a more lighthearted side of people. They didn't have enough wine to get them drunk, but it was still a decent time. For a moment, Cecelia forgot about Negan and all of his bullshit. She even forget about Ari, which rarely happened. It was just nice, and it was the first time Alexandria felt like home. Or really, it was the first time any place felt like home since the epidemic began.

At the end of the evening, they all helped Jesus clean up, being careful not to disturb Cecelia's work area.

To be polite, Cecelia walked Daryl out the front door onto the porch.

"Thanks for dinner," Daryl said as they walked out.

"Oh," Cecelia began. "I didn't have much to do with it, obviously but, I'm glad you could stay," she winced inwardly at her own words.

"Yeah," Daryl responded and he walked down the porch steps. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Cecelia stepped away. "I'll see you."

* * *

 **Hey all! Hope you enjoyed some Daryl/OC interaction. Sorry this chapter was super short. Next up: the run with Daryl.**

 **I was kind of feeling unmotivated to write this, this is very out of my comfort zone but I've had fun challenging myself, so let me know how I am doing.**

 **In other news, h** **ow well do you all think I've written Negan? I've never read the comics but I know the gist of them. I feel like I've had to write him slightly out of character for the sake of this story, but I think he's not too out of character. That sneak peak they just released scared the shit out me!**


	11. Chapter 11

Daryl wasn't overly talkative during the run. Cecelia remembered that was why she liked him. No fuss, low-maintenance. There were few people who made silence feel comfortable. They were listening to a mix CD he'd found in the center console of the car they were driving in. It was mostly jazz, and she had to admit she was surprised he was giving it chance. He didn't seem like someone who would enjoy the likes of Ella Fitzgerald or Bobby Darin.

She hadn't asked many questions about where the two of them were going. He had mentioned that Rosita was planning on coming the day before, however, when she'd met him at 9:00 that morning he told her she wasn't tagging along. Cecelia saw her standing at the lookout tower at the gate. Apparently she didn't need to go.

"You like Alexandria?" he asked her, fumbling with the radio as they traveled along.

Cecelia thought for a moment. "It's growing on me," she answered honestly. She remembered when her and Francis had spent a few days there after they'd first run into the group. For some reason, it had been nerve-wracking and terrifying. But now she was more comfortable here than anywhere else. She would feel relatively safe if it weren't for Negan. "It was an adjustment."

Daryl didn't respond, but she knew he'd heard her. There was a lull between the two of them. "Are you from around here?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, confused and distracted by the road ahead.

"From Virginia?" she clarified, honestly curious. She supposed if they were going to go on a run, she might as well use the time to get to know him a bit better. He was a character.

Daryl shook his head. "Georgia. How about you?"

 _Georgia_. That made his accent make a bit more sense.

"I grew up in West Virginia. But before all this I lived in New York City," she explained. She thought about her shitty old apartment in Upper Manhattan, then her nicer townhouse that she and Ari had moved into after they got married.

Daryl nodded. "How the hell'd ya learn all about medications?"

Cecelia shrugged. "It's what I studied in college. I have my PhD in Chemistry. I didn't really know what I'd do with it at first, but I just remember it fascinated me, so I pursued it."

Daryl grunted in response. "What did you do before all this?" she asked him, and he shrugged.

"Nothin' really. Just got into trouble with my brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Had," he answered, which made Cecelia clear her throat. She should have known better than to ask that.

"I see, I'm sorry," she corrected herself.

Daryl shrugged. "He was a son of a bitch."

Cecelia decided to stop asking questions, since it was too much already. They fell silent again, and she looked out the window to the woods rushing by on both sides, the occasional walker stumbling around on side of the road, slowly limping towards the car by not getting anywhere close as they sped by. Since Negan had been around, she had to admit she rarely saw walkers. The Saviors were at least good at that.

The opening notes to a familiar song rang out in her ears, and she felt herself sinking back against the leather seat with horror. Since Ari died she spent a lot of time thinking about him, wishing she could have at least properly said goodbye. She analyzed the last few conversations they'd had together, hoping she never had said anything to make him think she wasn't still pathetically head over heels for him.

He was on her mind, taunting her, almost constantly for the longest time, but in the past few months, she slowly found herself no longer dwelling. She could think about him without feeling intense pain, without seeing him behind her eyelids when she went to bed every night. She had moments where she was happy, brief moments when she forgot about how miserable she had felt for so long.

 _Some day, when I'm awfully low_  
 _When the world is cold_  
 _I will feel a glow just thinking of you_  
 _And the way you look tonight_

That song was playing. In her head, maybe, or in real life. She could never tell. But that song could ruin every opportunity of her getting better, of her feeling normal, not wanting to constantly throw herself off every bridge or building she saw. Cecelia plugged her ears, leaning forward, clearing her throat. Her face was burning.

"Is that song really playing right now?" she shouted, hardly able to hear over her own voice.

"What? Yeah?" Daryl seemed confused, slowing down the car as Cecelia felt herself unraveling.

"That song….that song is killing me, please turn it off," she said in a weak, but low growl. She knew it wasn't Daryl's fault. But it was tearing her apart.

Daryl clicked one button on the radio and Cecelia felt the pain in her head instantly go away. She was still being haunted.

"You alright?" Daryl asked, pressing the accelerator to speed up again, but still eyeing her cautiously. Cecelia always kept such a blasé poker face that revealed absolutely nothing, but he was pretty sure he just witnessed her break down.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat and straightened up, tilting her head. "I'm fine. I just hate that song," her tone of voice gave nothing away, it was flat.

Daryl wasn't sure whether to pry or not, but there was no way a song she hated would cause such an intense reaction. "Ya sure that's it?" Daryl questioned again, concerned, wondering if she'd open up.

"We're not going to talk about this," she answered flatly, and the somewhat friendly demeanor she had held with him merely moments was gone. She closed herself off and they didn't talk for the rest of the ride.

Daryl pulled up to a convenience store he'd seen before that seemed relatively untouched. They needed food, and lots of it. And a way to hide it from Negan as well. Cecelia followed him, seeming alert. She was personally embarrassed about what had happened in the car, that she couldn't control herself.

Strangely enough, all the windows of the store were broken in, but inside remained relatively intact. Cecelia could see through the windows that there were plenty of canned goods on the shelves. When they got to the doors, Daryl whistled to see if there were any walkers inside. They heard some groaning, and some bumping around, but determined it was one that had gotten caught in the back of the store, so they decided to tread lightly.

"Careful," Daryl warned as he stepped inside with care. Shards of shattered glass were littered everywhere, sparkling and casting rainbows all over the inside of the darkened building when the sun caught them right. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

They began to pile canned goods into the large plastic containers they had brought with them. They made trips in and out of the building and to the car, and Cecelia was always cautious when she exited. She didn't want to repeat what had happened merely a week before with Negan. She kept seeing the man clad in all black smiling at her as he ran off free. And if he was still with the same people, they'd know she was nearby. It was only a matter of time. Then she'd have bigger problems than just dealing with Negan every few weeks.

"Hey," Cecelia said when she found the walker in the back of the store near the refrigerators. The smell of spoiled milk was overpowering, and she stared at the broken glass that poked from the side of the metal frames. The walker was wearing a pair of pants that's belt had become stuck on the Employee's Lounge door handle, and it strained against it's captivator, becoming more active when she closed in. "I found the walker."

"Need help?" Daryl called from the opposite side of the store.

"I got it," Cecelia said confidently. She took her blade from it's place on her hip. Suddenly, the walker stalked forward, free from it's constraint. The belt had finally snapped, after years of stress. This took her off guard and she backed up quickly, not paying attention to where she was going.

As she pushed the blade into the decaying corpses skull, an excruciating pain ripped down the back of her calf. Cecelia shrieked at the unexpected sensation. She jerked her leg upwards and away to get away from whatever was causing the discomfort as the walker fell at her left foot.

"Fuck," She growled as Daryl approached after the commotion. Sitting on her butt, Cecelia surveyed the back of her calf and saw that one of the glass fragments the stuck out from the refrigerators had gashed into her calf, all the way from the back of her kneecap to the top of her ankle. She hissed in pain, reaching to touch the wound then pulling back. Cecelia didn't want to give herself an infection.

"Shit," Daryl muttered as he looked at the damage. "How did that happen?"

"I got taken off guard," she winced as she flexed her foot and tested to put weight on it. It felt okay, but still decently unpleasant.

Daryl stuck a hand out to her, and she accepted it graciously to raise herself back on her feet. "Can you walk?" he asked.

She grimaced. "Yeah, it's not so bad."

Daryl held out an arm for her to support herself with. "I'm fine," she assured him.

"Ya sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "Let's finish up." Warm blood was gushing down her leg, soaking the socks of her boots and pooling in their soles. As she walked forward, she felt her foot squish in the liquid. Daryl kept looking at her cautiously, but there wasn't much he could do to help, and they didn't have a medical kit near them.

Cecelia tried to ignore the pain that nagged at her as she help Daryl finish up, but it didn't take long until they were finally done. It was going to be a long ride home, but it felt better to sit down.

"Ya gotta get stitches," he mumbled once they were on the road and Cecelia leaned over to inspect the wound. It was still bleeding pretty badly, and the dark crimson liquid was slowly coloring her boots and leaking onto the passenger seat mat. It was gross. She wasn't particularly squeamish, but knowing that all of that blood was coming from her own body was making her feel lightheaded.

"Francis' wife was a nurse," she said lightly. "He knows how to do stitches."

Daryl remained quiet for the rest of the car ride, which she appreciated, because Cecelia was partly angry for getting injured, partly exhausted and dizzy. They arrived back at Alexandria after what felt like decades of driving, and Daryl pulled the car all the way up to her front step.

"Need help getting inside?" Daryl asked and Cecelia shook her head.

"I got it, but thanks."

"Take care," she mumbled as she cautiously stepped out, waving weakly as he pulled away. As quickly as she could, Cecelia got up the porch steps and inside. Francis was in the kitchen.

"What happened?" He asked, taking in her condition.

She shook her head. "I cut myself."

"Looks like it," he said, rising from his spot at the table and stepping towards her. "Let's go clean you up," he chuckled.

* * *

 **I'm excited for season 7 to start because I feel like I'm kind of stuck in limbo right now and I'd like to follow the show a bit, although I hope the show starts following the comics a little closer.**

 **Next chapter: Negan shows up to Alexandria, but what kind of state will he find Cecelia in?**

 **Anyways, thoughts? I'm debating whether to post the next chapter ASAP or wait until after the season premiere to get a better idea of what to do. Let me know, because for once I have the next chapter basically done!**


	12. Chapter 12

When Cecelia woke in the morning a few days later, something was way off, though she couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was. Her heart raced and her leg felt like it was on fire, the pain burning from her wound and reaching every other part of her body. When she sat up her head spun and she pushed aside a wave of nausea, reaching towards her nightstand to take a sip of water from the glass she kept there.

She rested her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees, and cursed under her breath. Something was very wrong. The watch on her nightstand read 10:00 a.m., two hours past when she normally woke up. Things had been getting better, she thought, but she apparently was wrong.

"Hey," Francis' voice broke her from her trance and she looked up towards the door. He stood, dressed, his hair tousled. He had been on a shift late last night, and must have been returning to sleep.

Every since he stitched her up he helped her change the dressing around the cut every night, however, it didn't always get done promptly if he was out working, and last night she'd forgotten to ask him, forgotten to do it all together.

"Are you okay?" Francis asked, his voice changing from easygoing to concerned.

Shaking her head, Cecelia nodded. "I'm fine."

"You overslept," he stated, walking into the room. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well," he sat down on the bed next to her. "Can I look at your stitches?"

Cecelia nodded again, rolling up the left of her pajama pants and wincing as she stretched out her leg, laying on her stomach. She shivered when the cool air hit her exposed limb.

Francis sucked in his cheeks as he glimpsed the cut. It was red and swollen, and hot to the touch. "I think you have an infection," he said, touching her calf lightly. Cecelia winced.

"You said you feel tired?" he asked. She nodded, glancing back at him. His brows were furrowed.

"How long have you felt like this?"

"Yesterday afternoon," she turned her head to mumble into the pillow. Her leg had felt a bit worse than usual, but she'd been on her feet a lot, so she figured she was just sore and still healing. She just assumed she'd sleep it off.

"Cecelia," she heard his disappointed sigh. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She turned her head again to look at him. "I know you were busy, I thought it was normal."

"This isn't normal," he explained. "But you've been on your feet just as much, if not more than usual these last few days. I told you not to overdo it."

Cecelia closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have to take care of yourself. I'm going to get antibiotics."

Francis stood from the bed, making to go downstairs.

"Wait no," Cecelia rolled onto her back and sat up. "Those are for The Saviors"

"Well fuck them," he said flatly. "You stay put and sleep. I swear to God if I come back and you're moving around I will lock you in this room."

"I think that's a little unnecessary," Cecelia said and rolled her eyes.

Francis responded, just disappeared out of the door, leaving it cracked behind him. Feeling suddenly chill, Cecelia pulled the blankets and comforter over her again and closed her eyes, drifting off within minutes.

Cecelia awoke with a start again when she felt eyes on her. It was Jesus, and she knew she hadn't been asleep for long because the clock on her nightstand read 10:30 a.m.

"Cecelia," Jesus said, his hand on her shoulder. "You better get downstairs. Negan's here and he wants to see you."

Groaning into her pillow, she clenched her fists. Of course. Only when she was weak did he seem to come around. She most definitely didn't have the energy to deal with him today, and she wasn't even sure if she could stand without toppling over.

"Give me five minutes," she whispered. "I'll be down."

Paul nodded and left the room. After counting to ten in her head, Cecelia finally lifted herself out of bed and stood up for the first time. She felt weak and cold, and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and brush her teeth. Her cheeks were flushed and her complexion blotchy, and she shook from the brisk air and the fragile feeling in her bones. Throwing on a sweatshirt, though it was mid-summer and unnecessary, she covered her greasy hair with her favorite black baseball cap. A shower might have made her feel better, but she didn't have the time.

Her injured leg burned with pain but it wasn't too touchy to walk on. She took a deep breath before heading downstairs, trying to act normal and hoping she could pull it off.

"Morning," She said, as blasé as possible.

Negan stood in the kitchen front of the pills of pills and medications she'd made, counted, packed and labeled with correct dosages and instructions, and common conditions they were used for. It had been tedious and time-consuming but she did everything in the correct amount and within a small amount of time, so he better not be here to tell her otherwise.

Negan gave her a striking smile that both terrified, annoyed and made her feel strangely warm. She considered slinking back upstairs to her bedroom, but that wasn't really a great option. She felt weaker just in his presence, or maybe it was the infection. Either way, she wasn't okay. "Morning' sunshine," he bit his lip.

Cecelia wanted to be angry, but knew it was a waste of her time. He was going to make a fool of her in front of Francis and Paul, who sat uncomfortably at the kitchen table. She looked past him on the porch where two of his men stood.

"You wanted to see me," she asked, standing a solid ten feet away from him.

"This is everything?" he asked. She nodded, a chill passing through her and she shivered.

"Good," he chuckled. "Nice to see someone who understands the rules."

Cecelia felt her body breaking out in a cold sweat. She squinted at him and nodded to keep her cool. "Yeah. I know," she just agreed and locked eyes with Francis, who stared at her, looking concerned.

Negan stepped closer to her and she straightened up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, and pushed back the visor of her hat to press a palm against her forehead. He frowned. "Jesus Christ, you're burning up."

"Don't touch me," Cecelia coughed, trying not to collapse on the floor, casually placing her hand on the counter after jerking away from his touch.

Francis stood from the table. "Cecelia, go sit down."

While his order was enticing, she stood her ground and stared at Negan, who regarded her with a slight smug look on his face, seeming to not hear Francis' response. She felt herself growing dizzy, her knuckles growing white as she gripped the countertop. Then suddenly, Francis was behind her, and he took her by the arm, practically dragging her to sit down in their small living room.

"What the hell is going on?" Negan asked, growing angry, his voice loud.

"She cut her leg and now she has an infection," Francis answered, cuffing her jeans.

Cecelia sunk into the cushions. "I'm fine."

"No," Francis shook his head. "You need to take some antibiotics and take it easy."

"Ask him for antibiotics, since he's taking everything I made," she said, making eye contact with Negan, who had moved to stand in front of her, behind Francis, who was crouched down by her side.

"Paul, can you get me some water?" Francis called over his shoulder. She heard Jesus' chair scrape against the floor.

"I'm fine," she repeated.

"Jesus Christ," Negan repeated himself. "Why the fuck didn't you do anything about it?"

Francis stared at Cecelia while he answered. "She didn't tell me about it until today. And she didn't listen to me."

"She's fucking coming back to The Sanctuary with me," Negan hissed, then walked out of her line of vision. Paul handed her a glass of water. "I'm not losing my cook to some fucking idiots who can't handle a little infection."

"The hell I am," Cecelia spoke up after him, but Negan didn't respond.

"Drink this," Francis said.

"I don't want to go back there, Francis."

"I don't think you have much of a choice," he answered.

"I just want to stay home," she whined.

"Cecelia," Francis closed his eyes. "As much as I hate to say it, you're probably going to be in better hands there."

"You're a great nurse," Cecelia argued.

"We don't have the resources, Cecelia," He rubbed her arm gently. "And I'm not really a nurse. Emma was."

Cecelia felt her eyes well up. Francis hardly ever mentioned his wife, let alone by name. She closed her eyes, and heard footsteps enter the room. Negan entered, followed by Dwight and another man she didn't recognize.

"Come on, we're leaving."

"I'm fine," Cecelia repeated as he reached out towards her with a gloved hand. She shrunk away from him. "Just let me stay here."

"Fuck that," Negan growled as he jolted her upwards to her feet.

"Stop!" she used her free hand to push him away firmly with what little strength she had. He looked surprised, angered and shocked by her outburst. "I can at least walk by myself. And if you don't take me back here when I'm better the only way you can get me there is to drag me by my dead fuckin' body."

"I don't negotiate, sweetheart," He chuckled. Francis gave her a reassuring nod and she wrinkled her nose back at him. She understood though, and he was at least a little bit right. Negan had never tried to hurt her before, she figured he wouldn't now. But Francis didn't know about the kiss, and she had no idea what all of this would mean. Now she'd probably be forced to be one of his harem of wives. She was vaguely aware the the locket she kept in her back pocket. It felt like it was burning a hole through her jeans. She only belonged to one man.

She followed them shakily towards the front of Alexandria, towards the car they'd come in. More Saviors were there, loading up the car with food and supplies. Cecelia saw Daryl out of the corner of her eye. He looked concerned, but she couldn't exactly tell him everything was okay. Because it wasn't. One of Negan's men had a firm hold on her upper arm.

Dwight shoved her into the car a bit aggressively, she let out a whimper as he tapped his steel-toed boot against the back of her leg for good measure. She didn't understand why he was so horribly violent with her. He pulled a black bag over her head. Even Negan wasn't this pointlessly cruel to her. Negan got in the passengers seat while Dwight sat in the back with her. Cecelia shoved herself aggressively against the door of the car and rested her cheek against the cool glass of the window.

Cecelia was quiet throughout the entire ride, she could feel herself burning up, falling into a fitful sleep and then coming too when a wave of cold ripped through her. It felt like she was in the car for years, growing more and more nauseous with every twist and turn. When the car finally stopped, Dwight yanked her out.

Flustered, Cecelia pulled the black bag off her head, she placing a hand against the side of the truck before dry-heaving a few times, though there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.

"I'm fine," she said to herself more than anyone else, a deep breath.

"Take her to the infirmary," she heard Negan's order.

* * *

Cecelia woke with a start, a bit confused and hazy, surveying her surroundings. She wasn't in Alexandria, and she slowly began piecing together her morning. She was at The Sanctuary. The room she was in was cool and sterile, like a makeshift hospital room, and she was alone. It was painted white, and there was a door with a tiny window in it, but she saw nothing in the hallway. She stared at the IV in the crook of her arm.

 _Hell no_ , she thought to herself, ripping the tape off her sensitive skin and gently pulling out the needle, wincing. A small drop of blood formed at the exit site but she ignored it. Who knew what kind of drugs they were feeding into her.

She did, however, have to admit she felt significantly better than earlier. Her fever had broken and though she still felt a bit weak and unstable, she figured it was because she was hungry. As if on cue, her stomach growled.

The machine next to her started beeping after the removal of her IV, and she frantically got out of bed to quell the sound. She yanked the plug out from the wall and the beeping stopped. She felt cool air hit her ass and realized she was in a goddamn hospital gown. How the hell did that happen? And was Negan around? If he saw her naked that'd surely give him an excuse to be extra coquettish with her.

Her clothes were in a neatly folded pile on the chair next to her bed. She reached for them when suddenly she heard footsteps approaching on the opposite side of the door. Straightening up, Cecelia looked around for something to defend herself but it was too late. The door opened and it was a woman she didn't recognize. Just because it wasn't Negan, Cecelia felt herself relax slightly.

"Good, you're awake," the woman said. She was older, and looked to be in her 50s, with graying dark hair and twinkling eyes. "My name is Elaine, I'm a nurse. You're Cecelia, correct?"

Cecelia stood still, unresponsive and unsure. The woman looked past her to the unplugged machine and detached needle dangling from the IV bag. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"Look," she said softly. "You don't have to be scared. We're not going to do anything to harm you," When Cecelia offered no response besides a skeptical look, the woman continued. "Negan is a fair man," the woman responded. "We're all fair people here."

Nothing she said registered with her, and Cecelia refused to respond, so the nurse seemed to give up. "We had you on saline and penicillin. You've been here 8 hours."

"I slept for 8 hours? What time is it?" Cecelia asked.

"It's 9 p.m." the woman said.

"When am I getting home?" she asked.

Elaine responded quietly. "I don't know yet. That's not my place to say."

"How long do I have to stay here?" Cecelia frowned.

"I have to check up on you to see if you're okay to be discharged. Then we'll find a place for you to stay."

"I'd rather just go home," said Cecelia flatly. "I'll walk if I have to."

Elaine looked a bit overwhelmed by her questioning, and ignored Cecelia's response. "Now that you're awake, I can go grab you something to eat. And I'm going to get you a new IV. Food and fluids is exactly what you need right now. And sleep."

Cecelia nodded, deciding to change her approach. "Do whatever you need to do."

Cecelia watched the nurse fiddle with a few buttons on her IV pole, write some notes on a clipboard, and then turn to leave the room, leaving the door cracked behind her. Quickly, Cecelia changed into her clothes across the room. When she put on her pants, she noticed the locket was no longer in her back pocket.

Concerned, she crouched down and looked at the floor, hoping it had fallen out when she'd got undressed. It wasn't there, even as she frantically searched. In all her years running and jumping and crawling and fighting she'd never lost it, so it made no sense that it would disappear now. This was deliberate. But she'd worry about it later. Right now she had to find the only person who could get her out of here. He was also the only person who could keep her inside.

It was worth a shot. The door to her room was cracked slightly enough so that the lock hadn't clicked into place yet. With one poke of her head out the door into the hallway, she saw no one, and headed in the opposite direction of what looked like a nurses station. She had been here once before. It couldn't be that hard to find her way around.

* * *

 **Next up: Cecelia goes looking for Negan in The Sanctuary.**

 **Hope ya'll are excited for the season premiere tonight! I know I said I had this chapter written out, but for some reason I struggled with the second half and it took awhile for me to write it. Let me know how I am doing.**


	13. Chapter 13

Cecelia spent what felt like hours walking around trying to find where Negan was. No one knew who she was, but also no one seemed alarmed that she was walking around unaccompanied. It didn't raise any eyebrows, which surprised her.

This was pretty risky, but would hopefully be worth it if she found him. She didn't even have a plan fully formulated if she did find him. And at this point she was growing tired and hungry. It wasn't the best idea considering her circumstances to leave her 'hospital' room, but she needed to get home. She tried to remember where she'd been taken the first time she was brought here. Both times there was a bag over her head, but she remembered a staircase, the surprising warmth of his office.

Cecelia found a metal staircase and thought she was close. The whole place must have been some sort of factory or bunker. It was made up of primarily long corridors but open floors where supplies were made or sorted. She wished she was able to see it all, get a full look at everything.

Once she reached the top of the staircase Cecelia followed a carpeted corridor that seemed to branch off from where everyone else was. It seemed like most everyone had checked out for the night, besides a few guards who, for whatever reason, didn't even attempt to stop her or ask her who she was.

She poked her head through a cracked door and saw what looked to her like an intricately decorated sitting room. There were books and magazines, and a woman wearing black lingerie lay sleeping on one of the chairs, her leg draped lazily over it's arm.

It must have been Negan's wife, or…at least one of them. Cecelia felt her gut twist. Was this how he made them dress? Were they trapped here all day? Careful not to wake the woman for fear of the repercussions she stayed quiet. She could hear giggling and low whispers coming from a larger door across from the sleeping woman and crept towards it. She took one deep breath before turning the knob and swinging it open.

"Fuckity-fuck fuck," She heard Negan yell out when the door open. It took a moment for Cecelia to register where she was in the dim lighting. "Who the fuck-" he stopped when he saw Cecelia in the doorway.

The room was dimly lit- on purpose she assumed, with a fireplace and a small sitting area around it, and a large king-sized bed surrounded by bedposts. Negan lay in bed with a woman who was half-naked, so was he. Cecelia tried not to focus on that, and she walked right in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled, and Cecelia knew that she wouldn't be dealing with the tame version of him who had appeared earlier.

"Sherry, get out of here," he ordered the the woman in bed next to him. She was beautiful, and wore lingerie similar to the woman who was still asleep in the sitting room. Sherry scrambled out of bed, covering herself up, looking ashamed, but Cecelia wasn't offended by her nudity. If anything, she felt bad for the woman. But she stepped aside as Sherry scurried out without a word, closing the door behind her.

Negan was pulling on a pair of dark-wash jeans with his back towards her. He looked good shirtless, with toned arms and a chiseled stomach. He buttoned them up before flipping on the lights, striding forward.

"Did you come here to join in on the fun?" he asked, smirking, holding his arms out and gesturing towards himself. Cecelia just gave him a puzzled stare, surprised by his change in mood. His dark hair was ruffled and hung slightly in his eyes, different from it's usual slicked-back 'do. A sick part of her wanted to reach out and run her hand down his toned abs but she kept her cool as he neared her.

She was truthfully tired. Cecelia had overestimated how good she felt when she first woke up, and all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep.

"How the fuck did you get up here, sweetheart?" he said, gripping her upper arm and drawing her close to him. Cecelia tried not to inhale his musky scent as he pressed his bare torso close to her chest, his opposite hand rising to cup under her chin. She drew in a shaky breath, hoping to steady herself before speaking, but she didn't have to, because a walkie-talkie next to his bed crackled to life.

"Negan, do you copy?" she recognized Dwight's voice, muffled. "We lost Cecelia."

Looking slightly annoyed, Negan released her and stepped away, cursing.

"Yeah?" Negan picked up. "Well she fucking found me," he hissed back.

Dwight's voice reappeared. "Elaine turned her back and she was gone."

"Well Elaine needs to learn how the fuck to do her job. Fucking forget it. It's handled," he snarled, slamming the walkie-talkie back on the table. Cecelia shivered.

"Where the fuck were we?" He turned.

"You aren't mad I'm here?" she asked flatly, cocking an eyebrow. She was hesitant whether to move further into the room, or to stay put.

"Fuck no I'm not," he pulled a clean white shirt out of his dresser and pulled it over his head, running his fingers through his messy dark hair. It was peppered with grays, and Cecelia wondered briefly how old he was. "I'm a little fucking upset you cockblocked me, but Elaine didn't do her fucking job, that's why you're here, correct?"

Cecelia shook her head, though she had to admit she was relieved he wasn't acting violently. "I'm here because I want to go home."

Negan laughed as if her demand was a joke, then paused and stared at her awhile. "What do you miss the most about life before all this?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?" She asked.

"Answer the fucking question," he started. "And I don't want to hear the goddamn sob story about your dead husband again, so pick something else."

Cecelia scoffed, feeling anger rise up in her chest. She tried not to hold in what she really wanted to say. "First of all, you have never heard the 'goddamn sob story', second, if you must know, I miss vodka, cold beer, and my Brooklyn townhouse. Now, you're going to take me home."

Negan laughed again. "Fuck, sweetheart. I'll take you in more ways than one, but I'm not going to fucking take you home until it's fucking convenient for me," he mulled over her last statement. "You're a New Yorker, I guess I could have figured that from your awful fucking attitude."

Cecelia shook her head, ignoring his comment. "Fine, I'll walk home." In one swift movement she turned around towards the door, fully prepared to leave and walkout

She felt every hair on her body rise up with a rush of adrenaline as he firmly gripped her upper arm and spun her back around to face him. "The fuck you are," Negan growled. The sheer strength he possessed in just that slight movement terrified her, but not enough to let her back down. Cecelia wasn't used to being told what to do. She had always been independent, even while married to Ari. He knew better than to boss her around, so did everyone she'd met since the world went to shit. Negan didn't.

"You know what?" She snarled, her voice a low bellow she barely recognized. Fire rose from her stomach, and she seized the collar of his thin white t-shirt with both hands. For a fleeting moment, she saw panic in his eyes as she forced him to look at her, but it disappeared quickly, his expression unreadable. "You don't know who I am, you don't know the shit I've done. And you're a fucking idiot if you think you have any idea the things I'm capable of. Those men who attacked us the other day, at the community college, I knew them. They were out to get me, and you don't want to awaken that monster."

This was bad, very bad. She shouldn't have done this. But she also couldn't stop. "I'm not going to let some psychopath-" she pushed him backwards. "- tell me what the fuck to do."

Half of what Cecelia had just said was a lie. Sure, she had recognized the man from the community college, but she had no idea whether or not he was a real danger, or whether he even knew who she was.

Negan's expression was unreadable, which scared her. "Calm the fuck down," he hissed, pulling away from her.

"What did you do before all this?" Cecelia asked, changing the subject, considerably confused by the things he was saying to her but still outraged. She needed him to hurt, that was the only way she'd get anything out of this. "Were you working some boring office job, slaving away day after day only to come home to a wife who refused to sleep with you? Was your shitty past life the reason you act the way you do now?"

Negan was silent. "You shut the fuck up," he said, and it seemed as though she hit a nerve.

"I deserve respect and until I get it I will not back down," Cecelia stated, straightening up and looking him dead in the eye. "Is that understood?"

Negan narrowed his eyes at her, thinking. "You're fucking lucky I like you, sweetheart, because otherwise I wouldn't put up with your bullshit. You've got some fucking fight in you."

"Are you going to answer my question?" She asked, ignoring his compliment - or whatever it was.

"Mutual respect," he said flatly and chuckled. "Sure. But only if you hold up our end of the deal."

"When have I not?" she asked, tilting her head.

Negan didn't answer, just turned away walking towards his fireplace. "Look, I'll get you back to Alexandria. But I'm not fucking letting you walk, I can't lose my only cook if something happens." He paused, pouring himself a drink from the crystal whiskey decanter on one of the shelves next to the bricks. "Now, who the fuck were the men you were talking about?"

Cecelia decided instead of continuing to stand awkwardly in the place she currently was to move closer to him, sitting delicately on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. "When I was trying to pay my way through college, I got mixed up into some things I shouldn't have. I got out of it a long time ago, but one of the men I worked for always harassed me, even after I was done. I saw one of his men. I have to deal with this or he'll never go away."

Negan took a sip of his whiskey. "What the fuck were you doing?"

"What I'm doing for you now. Only at the time, it was technically not legal."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he shook his head, grinning slightly. "You were a drug dealer. You _are_ fucking crazy."

Cecelia narrowed her eyes, unsure of how to respond. "Technically, I didn't handle distribution, that was him. I helped one of my professors as a cook. It was desperate and stupid, not crazy."

Negan turned back to the decanter. "Want a drink?" He offered. Cecelia shook her head.

"I haven't eaten much today, it'll just make me sick," Cecelia hate whiskey. It was awful and disgusting, but a drink didn't sound completely unappealing. She knew better though. It felt weird, strangely natural, taking to him this way, when just a minute ago she'd had half a mind to rip his throat out.

She had him strangely fooled into liking her, this continued to puzzle her. Even before this, she had always had trouble making friends, she was reserved, she didn't like to open up to anyone and preferred to keep to herself. Cecelia definitely wasn't charismatic. So what exactly did he see?

* * *

 **Well, the season premiere really ripped my heart out. I have a lot of feelings about it, but mostly I am disappointed with the writing of this show. I could go into it but I'll spare ya'll my opinions. What did you guys think?**

 **I just recently read the "Here's Negan" series that focuses on Negan's backstory. It's very interesting, and nice to know he wasn't always an absolute piece of shit. I'm trying to kind of hybrid the comics and the TV series, let me know how I am doing.**

 **On a more positive note, I'd like to welcome all my new followers! This story probably got at least 30 new followers over the week, which is awesome. I've worked really hard on this story and I'm happy to see people connecting with it. So don't be shy, drop me a line and introduce yourself!**


	14. Chapter 14

Cecelia's woke from what felt less like sleep and more like an unconscious trance. She didn't even feel like she'd fully fell into a slumber, even though it took her a moment to register where she was. _Negan's room._ It sounded a whole lot more immoral than it really was. After offering to shared his bed for the evening, she declined with a scowl and laid down on his couch with no intention of actually sleeping. However, her fatigue and infection got the best of her, and she found herself falling in and out of a fitful sleep much to her dismay.

Negan slept soundly, though, with her in the room. It was that kind of confidence that pissed her off. He wasn't afraid of her. It was almost as if he trusted her. She could have done anything to him in his sleep, but then again, she wouldn't, because she'd be good as dead. How he'd lured all The Saviors into working for him was beyond her. Maybe by fear or bribery, or a little of both.

The sun was streaming through the large windows in his room, and Cecelia heard shower water running. A shower sounded fantastic, and so did food. Negan was no longer in his bed, but the sheets on it were crumpled from where he slept. Now was her chance.

Cecelia ran around the room, searching frantically for what she knew he had. _Her locket._ It was foolish to have an attachment to something so trivial, but it was the last picture she had of him, and even today she found herself forgetting the wrinkles under his eyes when he grinned, his sweet, crooked smile. It was the only thing she cared about.

Scrambling to his bedside table, she opened the drawer to find nothing but several dozen condoms and what looked like a vibrator. Cringing, Cecelia flicked them aside when she saw something poking from underneath the foil packages. It was a leather wallet, probably belonged to someone he'd brutally murdered.

Instead when she opened it up she found the drivers license of vaguely familiar man. It was Negan. A younger, more innocent-looking Negan, who was clean-shaven. His smile didn't look so sinister and he looked...normal. Not menacing, not evil, just another man. Handsome, even, but in a less rugged way than now. But what really struck Cecelia with surprise was the name she read on the card. _Hazel eyes, 6'2'', 40 years old. David._ His real name was _David_.

Cecelia felt the corner of her mouth twitch in a sarcastic grin. This was gold. All along she'd known Negan was probably not his real name, but she never thought she'd figure out otherwise. She rifled through the rest of the wallets contents, a few twenty dollar bills, a credit card, a gym membership, AAA card. Then a picture of him with a woman who had dark hair, almost black. They were sitting next to one another on a couch at what looked like a Christmas party. Was this his real wife?

She didn't have time to figure out who it was because she heard the shower water turn off. Quickly, she pocketed his license and the picture and shoved the wallet back in the drawer, closing it quickly and jogging towards the door. This was the only chance she had to make a break for it. Unfortunately, when she got to the door, it was locked from the outside. She was trapped.

Whimpering, she jiggled the knob a few times before lifting her foot up and kicking the door with all her strength. It didn't budge, but it made a pretty fucking loud noise.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" she heard a voice from behind her. Turning, Cecelia found Negan with a towel wrapped around his waist in the entrance of the bathroom. Drops of water still clung to his damp skin, and his hair was mussed and wet.

"I'm not going anywhere," Cecelia lied. "I'm just...looking for something," she cleared her throat and put her hands behind her back. "I think I left something in the infirmary."

"Bull-fucking-shit sweetheart. Don't lie to me," he tilted his head.

Cecelia narrowed her eyes. "Honestly. I had a locket with me when I came here, it must have fallen out. I need to find it." Maybe he'd be nice, but that wasn't the real reason she was trying to leave.

"Fuck," he said, looking disappointed. "And here I thought we made some progress yesterday," she watched him pull clothes from a dresser next to his bed and turned away when he dropped his towel, refusing to look in his general direction as he changed. He disappeared in the bathroom.

Cecelia let her head fall back against the wall, becoming overwhelmed with emotion. Maybe she was tired, maybe she was hungry, she couldn't really tell. She had exhausted all options and was growing impatient. She just wanted to be back at Alexandria.

"Is this the locket you're referring to?" his deep voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Negan, now clads in jeans and a dark navy t-shirt, held it by it's chain in his left hand across the room.

"Yes," Cecelia leapt forward, moving towards him quickly. When she reached for the piece of jewelry, he yanked it back.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he said, reaching out to halt her, gripping her upper arm with his free hand. "I don't think I ever told you how things work, have I? I think it's because I like ya, but since you don't seem to like me as much, I think it's time for me to let the fuck go."

"What are you talking about?" Cecelia asked him as innocently as possible.

"I'm talking about the fucking New World Order," he chuckled. "Half your shit belongs to me, I can take what I please."

"Well that's not mine," she said, reaching out towards the locket only for him to move his arm away, holding it back. "Ari gave that to me, it's the last picture of him I have. It's worth nothing to you."

"It's worth something," he smirked. "Especially because the minute you forget about this, you forget about _him_ , is the minute that goddamn dead look in your eyes will go away. Work with me and I can give you whatever the fuck you want."

"Nothing you give me will ever make me happy," Cecelia felt close to crying, but held back. She couldn't be weak. "Please. I'll do whatever you want. Do you want to have sex with me? Fine. I don't care. Please, just let me have this one thing."

"Believe me, sweetheart, I'd love to fuck you," he began. "But I know that you don't actually want to fuck me. And you may think I'm a piece of shit, but I'm not that kind of piece of shit. Here," he said thrusting the locket into her hands. "Keep holding on to something that doesn't fucking exist."

She pocketed it, taking in a sigh. "Here," she said flatly, searching her opposite pocket and taking out his license and the photo of his wife. "I found these in your bedside table. But I don't need them."

Negan narrowed his eyes at her. "You looked through my shit-"

"Only to find what I needed," Cecelia mumbled softly. "David," she let the corner of her mouth turn up slightly.

Negan sniffed, snatching the license and photo out of her hand. "Go take a shower," he commanded, and jerked his head towards the bathroom.

Cecelia bit her lower lip and nodded. "Will do," she responded.

The shower felt good, and was much needed. She was surprised Negan didn't try to come in and interrupt her. There were clothes sitting on the bathroom counter for her to change into. She brushed her teeth with some toothpaste and her finger. Cecelia showered and washed, and got dressed quickly, hoping her wouldn't walk in on her, but when she was finished, she entered his room and was surprised to find it empty, he had left.

She supposed it made sense, that he had better things to do. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't eaten anything substantial in almost two days. There was no telling when she would get food next. With nothing else to do, she tried the door and found it still locked, with no way out. For an hour, she walked around the room, picking things up off dressers and shelves and turning them over in her hand out of boredom. But her eyelids felt heavy, and she found herself sitting on the edge of Negan's canopy bed. It was soft and warm, and slowly, Cecelia gave into the pull and laid down, falling into a deep sleep.

Always a light sleeper, she awoke a few hours later to the sound of Negan's voice, muffled through the door. It was about lunchtime. The sound snapped her out of her rest and she quickly moved back to her couch, grabbing a book of the bookshelf and skimming through it. When she heard the lock click and Negan enter she feigned indifference, glancing over the top of his book to meet his eyes.

"Here," he said, waltzing towards her with a brown bag in his hand. She took it from him cautiously, uncrumpling the top to look inside. There was a bag of pretzels and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Eat that. Elaine also gave me some antibiotics for your leg."

Cecelia narrowed her eyes, surprised by his kindness. Closing the book, she set it tepidly on the floor next to her. "Thanks," she said quietly, and hastily bit into the sandwich.

"Jesus Christ," he said loudly. "I'm not going to take it away from you."

"I haven't eaten in almost two days," Cecelia said flatly. "Forgive me for forgetting my manners," she rolled her eyes.

He sat next to her on the couch, studying her. Cecelia felt uncomfortable under his gaze, so after swallowing a bite of food, she opened her mouth.

"Just so you know, I'm not going to tell anyone your real name, David," she offered.

Negan didn't respond, but continued to stare at her. Putting down the sandwich, she crossed her arms and met his gaze.

"So, you lived in Brooklyn?" he asked, and Cecelia nodded.

Cecelia shrugged. "I only went to school there. I grew up in West Virginia."

"Really," he answered, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah," she said. "My husband was a native New-Yorker. I went to Columbia."

Negan scoffed. "Of course you did."

Cecelia shook her head. "Look, I know you think I have some kind of stick up my ass and maybe that's true, but I worked hard to get to where I was. My mom raised me and my siblings alone, she worked as a waitress. I never got the things I wanted like everyone else did, I was the first person in my family to go to college."

"Well in case you haven't figured it out, sweetheart," he started. "Nobody gets whatever the fuck they want."

"Except you," she said dryly, thinking of his harem of wives, his countless men and all the others who gave him everything he wanted, regardless of whether or not they wanted to. She was even included in this equation. "You have everything. You've made that abundantly clear."

Whatever semblance of compassion or friendliness he had just shone dissapeared as his mouth tugged up at the corner. She had been foolish enough to think he was going to actually admit she was wrong. "You're goddamn right."

Cecelia stared at him deadpan as he laughed at his own joke.

"You know," he began. "A lot of people think I'm a funny guy."

"Don't they work for you?" she responded, and he stared back. "Yeah, that's probably why."

Cecelia picked up her sandwich again, but Negan grabbed her hand, turning the palm upwards. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to the tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

"It's the chemical structure of dopamine," Cecelia answered. "I thought it would be a cool tattoo to get when I got my bachelor's degree. But I kind of hate it now."

"Why the fuck did you get it then?" Negan asked, and Cecelia pulled her hand away.

"Well," she began. "Dopamine functions in the body as a neurotransmitter. It sends signals to nerve cells, and produces a response. Kind of like cause and effect. I thought I could really change things for the better, be a neurotransmitter of sorts, by working in pharmaceuticals." she laughed bitterly, remembering the things she used to value. How could a girl with so much hope become the person she was today?

Negan rolled his eyes. "At least it wasn't a tramp stamp."

"I guess it could have been worse," she agreed, expressionless.

Cecelia took the last bite of her sandwich and swallowed, leaning forward to pick up the bag of pretzels that had fallen to the floor, when she felt Negan's hand on her neck. Rigidly, she sat up straight, doing his best to ignore his touch as he kneaded his fingers into her neck. His touch burned, but warmed every part of her body, and she couldn't help but relax as his second hand joined and he pressed the pads of his thumbs against the strained muscles in her shoulders. For a brief moment, she had a flashback to how it'd felt only a few weeks earlier when he'd pinned her against her kitchen countertop, then the brief but firm kiss he'd given her a week later. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

"I don't think you fucking hate me as much as you think, sweetheart," she heard his chuckle in her ear, closer than she'd expected him to be, his cool breath against her ear, raising every hair on her body.

"I don't hate anyone," she answered honestly, longing to have enough control to move away, but she couldn't. "Except maybe Dwight," she added.

He laughed again, and then his rough hand pushed her still-damp hair off her neck, pressing his lips against her sensitive skin there, pulling her back towards him. The combination of his stubble and supple lips on her skin were a bit too much for her to handle. Turning her head to face him, she thought he'd stop, but instead, his lips moved to press against her own, and she decided she could no longer resist the temptation.

There wasn't a time in the last year or so she'd been touched, not like this, not so erotically or so tenderly. But as she continued to kiss him, Negan became less and less innocent with his touch, gruffly pulling her closer, his movements becoming more aggressive, claiming her as his own. And as dirty and disgusting as she felt, Cecelia liked it. She didn't want to be treated like some delicate flower, because she wasn't one. Negan grabbed her behind her knee and swung her leg across his lap so she was straddling him, feeling him press against the inside of her thigh.

The scolding voice in the back of her head urged her to stop, but she only wanted to indulge. Yes, he was a shitty person. He was awful. But she wasn't great either. Maybe in some fucked up way this was okay. No, it definitely wasn't okay. It wasn't right. But she didn't care, at least not in the moment. His hand moved to settle into the curve of her waist and she reached up to cradle his cheek. Dipping her head down, she pressed wet, sloppy kisses against his neck until finally, _finally_ the voice in the back of her head prevailed. Cecelia pulled away.

"This is wrong," she said firmly. "I can't do this."

"But you want to," Negan said, his thumb finding the strip of skin where her shirt ended and her jeans began. Gently, he caressed her skin there, and Cecelia shivered.

"No," she shook her head, but was rooted to the spot. "No, I don't."

"Yes you fucking do, sweetheart," he said, his hand reaching to cup her cheek firmly. "So just tell me when the fuck you're ready. And I'll gladly have you."

Finally Cecelia was no longer frozen, and removed herself from his lap, trying to hide the red heat she felt rushing up her neck and cheeks, ashamed and embarrassed. But she was mostly ashamed. How could she do this to Ari? Hours ago she'd been begging Negan for the locket he'd given her so she wouldn't forget what he looked like. And not looking at it must have done the trick, since she apparently had no problem necking the enemy.

"Anyways," Cecelia turned towards him, blasé as possible. The cocky grin on his face made it hard for her to continue, but she did. "You need to take me home soon, _David_."

"Time, baby," he chuckled. "These things take time."

She had no idea whether he was talking about what just happened or taking her home, but she didn't want to analyze it. Cecelia could only hope eventually she made it back to Alexandria without compromising every person that lived there.

* * *

 **Hey all! This season of TWD has been pretty dark so far, and I needed to take a break from it and this story because it was starting to bum me out a little. But I ended up enjoying writing this one, even though it stressed me out and I rewrote it a thousand times.**

 **So, I FINALLY posted the first two chapters of my Poe/OC fic, so if you're a Star Wars fan, please go drop me a line and let me know how I am doing. It may not be updated as frequently as this one, because the chapters take a while and a lot of research/editing, but I'm excited for it, and it's not as heavy (emotionally) as this fic is.**

 **Please tell me how I'm doing! What did you think about the kiss?**


	15. Chapter 15

The rumble of the trucks engine, accompanied by the pop of rocks hitting underfoot were the only thing that kept Cecelia aware and alert. Underneath the dark curtain of fabric she was growing drowsy and nauseous. She thought the black pillowcase over her head was unnecessary at this point, she was just trying to figure out the right way to get it off for good.

After they'd been on the road for quite some time, Cecelia yanked it off her head, feeling her hair splay out of it's braid in all directions, frizzy from the fabric running up against it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Negan asked, one hand on the wheel, glancing over at her.

"Do I have to wear this?" she asked. "We've been driving awhile, I'm not going to be able to find your home. It's starting to make me feel sick."

"Fuck," he sighed, focused on the road. "Fine."

They were finally on their way back to Alexandria, only not on her time schedule. It had been a full week since he'd first taken her to The Sanctuary. Her leg would have a permanent scar, exacerbated by the contamination, but she was infection-free, and had been fed and cared for better there than at Alexandria. Unfortunately she hadn't slept well at all, still not comfortable enough to trust Negan. She didn't care about the fact she was treated better there, she just wanted her home, she wanted to see Francis and Jesus and be left alone to think about everything that had transpired since she'd first arrived at The Sanctuary.

Nothing else had developed between her and Negan, she chalked it up to her own inappropriate behavior to desire and impulse. She still hated him, but they seemed to get along slightly better. She'd had to tone down her temper a bit, but it ended up working out alright. When she wasn't fighting him at every turn, she realized that she didn't have much to say to him, and vice versa.

When they pulled up outside the gates of Alexandria, Negan put the truck in park, turning towards her, waiting to be let in.

"Anything you'd like to say before you're home?" he asked, smirking slightly.

Cecelia shook her head. "Nothing."

"Not a fucking 'thank you'?" he asked.

"You're the one who took me back, it's not like I begged you to go and use up resources on me," she said, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

Negan chuckled. "Come on, sweetheart," he looped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her awkwardly towards him, his opposite hand clutching her chin. "I know you liked it," he murmured in her ear.

Cecelia didn't move, though she frantically looked around to be sure The Saviors weren't watching. The windows in his truck were heavily tinted, no one could see inside, and it was just the two of them in the car.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers. Cecelia couldn't move, and truthfully didn't want to, as she closed her eyes, expecting to feel the warmth of his mouth on hers, aching for his touch. He chuckled at her urgency. "Don't forget to tell me when you're ready," he said, his voice low. "I suspect it will be sooner, rather than later."

"Fuck off," she moved to pull away from him, finding that she couldn't.

"Hey, we could do it now, this seat reclines," he growled. "But they might wonder what's taking us so long."

"I'll pass," she said, but allowed him to kiss her firmly, his tongue sliding against her lower lip, slipping between them. When he caught her lower lip between his teeth in a quick nip, Cecelia let out the soft moan that had been caught in the back of her throat.

"Come on sweetheart," he said, pulling away but still remaining close. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

She pulled away. "That's enough," she stated, her voice more even than she'd expected. Opening the door, she moved to get out of the car when she felt the locket fall out of the hole in her back pocket and onto the seat. The jeans she'd been given were distressed, and she should have known better than to trust the pouch.

"You know," Negan began, and Cecelia turned to face him. The locket was in his hands and she reached out towards him. "I don't think I ever looked inside of this. Shall we check it out?"

"I don't care," she said firmly. "Just give it back when you're done," she said, glaring out the window, waiting for him to taunt her some more.

"Oh well look at that," he mused. "I guess I fucking underestimated you. He's a pretty good-looking' guy," he let out a low whistle. "And is this you?"

In one side of the locket was a picture of just Ari, clad in a white t-shirt and dark jeans, looking out the window to the fire escape where her black cat, Absinthe, sat sunning itself in the windowsill. It was a photo she had taken after capturing the moment, they had only been together a few months, but it was her favorite picture of him, his jawline was covered in a well-manicured beard, but his wild, dark curls hung in his eyes, mussed from sleep.

The picture on the opposite side was a photo taken by one of her friends at a bar, Cecelia smiling at the camera and gesturing to her drink like Vana-White. But in this photo, Ari was smiling, gazing at her with adoration in his eyes. She always hated that photo, she looked ridiculous and you could tell by her mussed up hair and squinty eyes she was drunk. But she was happy. Blissfully, stupidly happy. Cecelia peered over Negan's shoulder, barely recognizing herself in the picture. She forgot what that felt like.

When Ari had given her the locket, on their first annniversary, the photo of the two of them had already been on one side, she just added the other one of him later. She groaned and rolled her eyes when he saw his picture choice.

"No wedding photos?" she had asked him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Do you really think I'd do that to you?" Ari had chuckled back in response. Their wedding had been a disaster, mostly because she didn't want a big wedding to begin with, but his family had. She had spent the day flustered, unable to get drunk, or even eat. When it came time for pictures she was hangry and unhappy, and it was clear in her eyes.

"I think this might be worse than the wedding pictures," Cecelia raised her eyebrows. "I hate this photo."

"Well you have to keep it in there," he argued. "It's a part of the gift."

"Fine," she said, but her mouth tugged up at the corner. "But I'm never letting anyone look at it."

That was true. The only person who ever looked at it was her. Hell, before the world went to shit she barely kept it with her, but she had to admit she was glad she'd grabbed it before they left their home. But now, Negan was looking at it, and she couldn't stop him.

"Look at that fucking million dollar smile," Negan exclaimed. "Jesus, sweetheart. What would I have to do to get you to look at me like that?" He shot her a wicked grin as he examined the photo.

"Are you done?" Cecelia asked, trying her best to ignore him. This wasn't even angering to her, it was just making her sad. Rosita, who was on duty at the front gates, had opened the gate for them and the convoy that accompanied them. Cecelia snatched the piece of jewelry out of his hands. Once the entered the complex and the car came to a halt, she could feel Negan practically become a different person, more sinister and scarily charismatic. She exited the truck, slamming the door behind her and not even saying goodbye. But he had other priorities.

Francis was on duty, and she saw him climbing down the latter of the platform to greet her. It took all her strength not to skip towards him and fling herself into his arms for some semblance of comfort, but she remained as calm as possible.

"Hey," she said softly to him.

"You okay?" He mumbled quietly, his eyes over her shoulder, following Negan, who was approaching Rick. They were far enough away to be out of earshot, but Cecelia nodded subtly, not wanting to talk until later.

Rick looked nervous and tired as Negan strode confidently up to him, his voice carrying over loudly. Rick always seemed to shrink, almost embarrassed around Negan. Cecelia had only spoken to the man a few times but could sense he wasn't as cowardly as Gregory, smart enough not to argue but also unwilling to throw his people under the bus to save his own ass.

"I can't watch this," Rosita growled behind Cecelia. She glanced over her shoulder at the beautiful brown-haired woman, whose eyes were on fire. Cecelia felt guilt in the pit of her stomach. Negan really was an awful man, she didn't know why she was unable to resist his charm.

"There's nothing we can do," Francis said quietly, not even glancing back at the woman.

Cecelia sighed. "I'm going home," she announced, nodding at the two of them before trekking away. Nothing sounded better than curling up in her bed, finally able to get a good sleep. She would probably sleep for days if she could. Refusing to look back, she power walked home, pretending there weren't Saviors following her to take shit from her. Cecelia was surprised, however, when they ducked into houses near hers but steered clear of the place she shared with Francis and Paul.

Thinking of Paul, she was surprised when she entered the home to find it empty. He wasn't sitting at his usual place at their kitchen table, and after walking through the house he was nowhere to be found. Slightly confused, she went back out to the porch and saw Daryl walking by. He looked angry, she bet it was from the Saviors, but she stopped him anyways.

"Daryl," his head snapped in her direction. "Have you seen Paul?" He blinked at her, looking confused.

"Er, Jesus," She corrected herself. She hated his godawful nickname. "Have you seen Jesus?"

"He went back to Hilltop," Daryl responded. "With Maggie and Sasha."

Cecelia felt her brow furrow, confused. "Wait, why?" And why hadn't Francis told her?

"Maggie had ta go to Dr. Carson, they both went with 'er."

"Oh," Cecelia said. "That's strange."

"What the fuck did the Saviors do to you?"

Cecelia was confused as to why Jesus would voluntarily head back to Hilltop. After everything with Gregory she thought he'd stick beside her and Francis, but apparently not. He wasn't close enough to Maggie to have a reason to go, unless they were close and she didn't realize it.

"Cecelia," Daryl's voice shook her from her trance, and she realized she was staring off in the distance, focused on nothing in particular. She watched the Saviors carry a mattress out of the house down the street.

"What?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, stepping backwards.

"They didn't hurt ya, did they?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Do you not think I'm capable of handling myself?" she snapped, slightly preoccupied. "I said I was fine."

Daryl bit the inside of his lip, looking uncomfortable. A breeze picked up through the trees, and it sent a chill down her spine. It was already early November, and though the weather was much more mild than NYC here, it was starting to get cold. She probably should have looked into getting some jackets and warmer clothes.

Cecelia shook her head, feeling bad for her outburst. "I'm really alright. Thanks for asking."

Daryl nodded.

"I'm surprised Jesus left. I wanted to talk to him," she corrected herself. "And Francis is on duty until later tonight."

"Ya eat anything today?" Daryl asked.

Cecelia shook her head.

"Once these guys clear out," he gestured towards the Saviors crowding their streets. "I can fix you something to eat. Tell ya what happened when you were gone."

Cecelia raised an eyebrow, surprised by the invitation. He usually kept to himself, and although their interactions were often short, she had to admit she was anxious to know what happened while she was gone, especially with Jesus and Maggie and Sasha. Why he was back at Hilltop was honestly beyond her.

* * *

 **Hey all! Sorry for being rather late to update, and with a filler chapter at best. I've been pretty busy lately, last week I turned 21, which was a big celebration since I live in America, and then Thanksgiving was this week, so a lot of traveling, and I had some writers block, AND I've had a cold for like two weeks now. But I am excited for the holidays so I can get a little break.**

 **I'm hoping to get this story on track with the show to an extent, but I also feel like the comics have a stronger storyline. After watching a lot of TV, TWD is actually becoming less and less appealing to me, because I feel like the writers could do so much, and then they don't! Ugh, maybe it's just this season that's frustrating. So I'm planning on taking liberties with this plot line. I'm also thinking of changing this story rating to M. It's certainly already somewhere between T & M, I'm just not sure what to do.**

 **I'm struggling to write interactions with Daryl and Cecelia because I'm not sure they're very compatible characters. Anyhow, let me know what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16

Cecelia stood in Daryl's kitchen, feeling uncomfortable. She wasn't sure who he shared the home with, but whoever it was wasn't there. The Saviors had left, and she had to admit she was relieved to know Negan wasn't in any close proximity to her. She was beginning to lose her judgement. They'd taken plenty, as usual, and she wasn't sure how much longer Alexandria could continue to go on without becoming starved themselves.

Daryl's home was laid out similarly to hers, although the kitchen seemed larger - or maybe it was because his wasn't cluttered with volumetric flasks, tests tubes, and other equipment. Cecelia didn't like to make conversation, and she wasn't much of a cook unless it involved chemicals, so she stood idly, waiting for him to prepare whatever he had. She suspected if she helped it wouldn't help. She wasn't expecting much, since Alexandria as a whole didn't have much.

They split a can of chicken noodle soup, and she sat across him eating in silence. "Taste okay?" Daryl's voice surprised her and she swallowed the spoonful of soup before nodding.

"It's great," Cecelia nodded, then smirked. "As great as canned soup can be."

Daryl smiled a little, and she felt the tension relax a bit. "Ya sure you're alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Cecelia promised. "Really, nothing happened."

"He didn't...ya know, make ya do anything you didn't want to do?"

Cecelia had an image of herself straddled across Negan's lap flash in her mind. "What?" Cecelia felt like she was talking incredibly loud, leaning forward slightly, trying to act surprised. _Did he know something?_ "No, not at all. I mean, yeah he's a bad guy...I don't think he would do that."

"I've seen the way he looks at ya when he's here," Daryl mumbled. "I wanted ta make sure."

"I'm okay," Cecelia said. "I promise. Honestly they just stitched me up and I waited for them to take me back." Even though omitting information was still lying, she knew it was best to not mention anything else. And she'd never noticed Negan looking at her, maybe she needed to be more aware.

"Still don't know why he likes ya so much," Daryl said, and Cecelia could tell he immediately regretted his word choice, grunting, trying to backtrack.

"Tell me how you really feel," Cecelia responded, straight-faced, even though she was teasing.

"Didn't mean that," Daryl corrected himself. "He lets ya get away with a lot, it doesn't make sense."

"I provide a service to him that no one else can offer," Cecelia fiddled with the base of the coffee mug he'd given her filled with wine. She was tempted to throw it back. "If he kills me, he loses a valuable tool."

Daryl nodded. "Makes sense," he agreed, but Cecelia could tell he was beating himself up over what he'd said earlier. She got pissed off easily, but what he'd said hadn't pissed her off. There were other things to get angry over, and even if he didn't think too highly of her, she preferred to be standoffish.

"Hey, I'm not upset about what you said at all," Cecelia offered. "I know you didn't mean it like that, and even if you did, I honestly don't care. I'd rather people dislike me than like me anyhow."

Daryl stared at her for awhile. "Why?"

Cecelia shrugged, not sure how to answer. "It doesn't matter what anyone thinks of me. I'm alive, right? That's all that matters." The truth was, getting close to someone else sounded awful, and she was already being pretty reckless by letting in Francis, and even Jesus. As much as she liked to depend on herself, she had to admit she wasn't completely self sufficient.

"Ya," Daryl agreed. "But are ya livin'?

Cecelia scoffed, and realized she'd abandoned her chicken noodle soup. It was probably getting cold. "What's the difference?" she asked, though the question was rhetorical. "I wake up everyday, I do what I have to do. There's nothing more to it."

"I used to be like you. Used ta think I didn't need anyone," He began. "I don't know where you come from, but I'd always been a loner. It wasn't until I found Rick I finally found a family. Now I got something ta live for."

"I get it," Cecelia said, and she was feeling heat rise in her chest. He wasn't coming after her, he wasn't being rude, but something he was saying was making her upset, though she didn't know what. "This mess with Negan, I wouldn't be in it if it weren't because I tried to save Francis."

"But did you do it 'cause you cared, or 'cause you didn't want his blood on your hands?" Daryl asked.

It took all her power not to slam her fist on the table, but she refrained, remaining calm. "What are you trying to tell me?" Cecelia asked, laughing bitterly "That I'm a bad person? I already know that."

Daryl shook his head. "Not what I'm trying' ta say," He began. "But ya don't have to act like ya aren't a part of everything that happens here. You live here now, you're one of us."

Cecelia stared at him for a minute. "Did you invite me to dinner just to make me feel bad?"

Daryl shrugged, but then shook his head. "No, I thought ya might want a friend."

Even though her mind was telling her to keep being angry, she had to be logical. Once she got an idea in her mind, any trigger to be angry she wouldn't hesitate to lash out about it. But she saw Daryl's intention, she knew he only meant good things. He wasn't great with words or good at sugarcoating things, but she respected it. Reaching for her wine, she took a long swig. She wasn't really sure how to respond, she just hoped if she refrained from speaking long enough he would continue.

"Whatever you've done, I know you're not a bad person," he began. "We've all done shit we weren't proud of. A lot of times we 'ad no choice."

She thought of the woman in the lab before everything went to shit, but pushed it out of her mind. Sure, morality was dead now, literally, but it hadn't been then. "Yeah," Cecelia agreed, just because there was no reason to argue. She didn't need anyone to tell her she was a good person, she was perfectly content thinking about how awful she was. And truthfully, after kissing Negan she felt she was past the point of no return. But she wasn't about to open that chest right now.

After a few moments of awkward silence and Daryl studying her she cleared her throat. "We should change the subject."

Having made his point, Daryl nodded. "Ya didn't see where The Saviors lived, did ya?"

Cecelia titled her head. "I don't know how to get there, if that's what you mean. Every time I've been they put a bag over my head in the car. But they're only about an hour away. The place they live is like a giant warehouse or factory or something. It's guarded pretty well, there are tons of The Saviors. We're outnumbered, significantly. And not to mention all the outposts they have."

Cecelia paused to spoon some cold soup into her mouth. "If Rick is planning something, he should probably tread lightly."

"Not much we can do right now," Daryl responded. "Besides wait until we know more."

"So you're going to fight?" she asked.

"There've been others...men like Negan that we've met," Daryl said. "We've gotten through it. But they weren't as big as The Saviors. We could do it, it just might take us time."

Cecelia pursed her lips. It seemed impossible. She doubted it would happen. But she didn't want to argue with Daryl again so she just nodded.

"When you were on your own, did ya have a group?"

"I was with my husband when everything happened," Cecelia figured starting from the beginning was the best thing to do. "We were visiting my mom. She was sick, dying. We were with a small group, after my husband died I split off from them, then I eventually found Francis."

"You were married?" Daryl asked.

"I think I still am...technically..." Cecelia trailed off. "I don't know. It still doesn't feel completely real," she confessed. She cleared her throat. As much as she hated to think about it, Ari was no longer a part of her life, and it was beginning to feel real. Cecelia had been in denial for awhile but it was growing more and more easy to go on every day. It made her feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to make ya think about it," he cleared his throat.

Cecelia lowered her eyes. "No, it's fine."

They finished up dinner and made casual chit chat, and Cecelia finally began to feel less and less uncomfortable. Daryl was a good man. He was a little scruffy-looking, but he was nice. She was glad she'd agreed to eat with him. He seemed lonely, and she wondered if he enjoyed talking to her. She probably wasn't the best company, but she was better than nothing.

Cecelia helped him wash and dry the dishes and walked outside. It was dark out, and she paused a moment before turning around and giving him a short nod, looking both ways before crossing the street out of habit. Daryl words from earlier echoed in her mind, just as she feared. _"You're alive, but are you living?"_

* * *

 **Hey all! I'm back! I thought I'd get this out to you, especially because you wanted to see more Daryl x Cecelia interaction. It's shorter than most of my chapters but I didn't want to force anything just for the sake of making it longer. After the next few chapters I will hopefully be caught up. I'm not sure if I should stop after the MSF and wait for the MSP or keep going and see what happens? I honestly kind of want to keep going.**

 **Last night's episode (7x7) was actually so good and restored my faith in this season. That's the kind of stuff I have been wanting to see - Rosita and Michonne being badass, Carl finally getting his comic arc with Negan, and Negan holding Judith - not gonna lie, I thought that was adorable. It's really hard for me to see JDM as a villain especially after he played Denny Duquette. My only complaint is that I miss Carol!**

 **Up next, a flashback to Cecelia's life before the outbreak.**

 **Let me know what you think, and wish me luck on my finals! Love ya'll!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey guys! I edited this chapter and re-uploaded. Sorry for the false notification!**

* * *

"Cecelia," Collins warned her as they walked into the large art museum. "You're not doing a great job of being discreet."

Cecelia felt uncomfortable in the tight gown she'd worn to the Gala, feeling nervous, she could feel her armpits sweating but she prayed to God her cheap deodorant would hold up. Her professor, Steven Collins, was perfectly calm beside her, his gray hair combed very precisely, his beard neatly trimmed. Anyone looking at him would never suspect him to be a criminal, but then again, she hadn't either when they'd first met. He was an even-keeled, intelligent man who seemed passionate about his job.

"Sorry," she mumbled, coughing into her elbow as they made it through the security. They reached the coat check, and Cecelia passed her black trench over to the man.

"And your briefcase, sir?" asked the man to her professor. Cecelia felt her eyes widen with fear, but Collins politely handed it over.

"Thank you."

Cecelia absentmindedly took the number for her coat, shoving it in the small clutch she'd brought. "So when is this happening?"

"I promise you, this is nothing to worry about," Collins said with a smile towards her, offering his arm for her to take. Behind the smile was another warning. She took his arm reluctantly. "They just would like to meet us. He is a businessman, okay? He's very professional."

That didn't make her feel any better, but she entered the party with him regardless, trying to distract herself from the inevitable meeting by looking at the women's beautiful gowns and enjoying the jazz band that played in the corner. The event had just begun, everyone was still getting their drinks and getting settled, so no one was dancing, but she felt as though they'd been there for hours already.

Dr. Collins stopped her, turning towards her, smirking. "I have to say, you really pulled it together tonight."

"Thank you," she responded flatly. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the compliment, she was just struggling to stay calm, and it was mostly backhanded. Collins wasn't a bad guy, just very standoffish, and truthfully, slightly awkward. Cecelia was great at what she did when they were in the lab, it was the schmoozing that she failed at.

"Anyways," he continued. "You might want to get a drink, take the edge off. Maybe that will help with your nerves," he said. His eyes flickered back over her shoulder for a moment, then met hers again. "Just don't get sloppy."

"You know me," Cecelia said sarcastically. She wasn't much of a drinker. During her undergrad maybe, but she rarely found the time to nowadays. Plus, she despised hangovers, and never felt that they were worth the buzz of alcohol.

"I can't help but notice," Collins said, his grey eyes flickering over her shoulder again. "There's been a man eyeing you for quite some time. Over at the bar, second from the right. I hope we aren't being set up."

Cecelia felt herself growing nervous again, but she really had no idea who it could be. Carefully, she turned, pretending to take in the scenery, the decorations. It was a Christmas party after all, very festive, with lights twirled around almost everything. But when she flickered her vision to the bar, her eyes locked with the man, and she immediately turned around with horror. "Fuck," she mumbled.

"What's wrong?" Collins asked, his brows furrowing together.

"It's nothing - it's not-" Cecelia bit her lower lip. "No one you need to worry about."

Collins looked over her shoulder one last time, staring at Cecelia, began chewing on her lip nervously. "Well, he definitely saw you," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Enjoy the party. Meet me back here in 45 minutes, then we can get to business," he strode away.

For Collins, it wasn't hard to find someone he knew, a professor who'd lived in NYC his whole life, a part of the elite and well-respected. Cecelia knew enough about him she could easily destroy his career, but not without bringing herself down as well. And just like that he was gone, vanished in the crowd to smooth-talk some single woman, most likely. Cecelia closed her eyes in one brief moment of peace before turning around to greet the man who was strutting towards her, just as she'd expected, a whiskey in his right hand, a wicked grin on his face.

"Cecelia," she recognized his sweet, smooth voice. "How are you?"

"I'm sorry," Cecelia began, leaning in slightly, narrowing her eyes in confusion, feigning ignorance. "Do I know you?"

"Darling," he chuckled. "Don't pretend like you don't remember me."

Cecelia shook her head, and his face dropped.

"We...we..." his eyes flickered around them and he leaned in, raising his eyebrows, his eyes trailing towards the top of her dress, where just a hint of cleavage peaked at the neckline. His eyes met hers. "Ari...Ari Abrams...remember me?"

"Yes," she growled. "I fucking remember."

"Don't bite," he warned, the corner of his mouth raising in an ornery smile. "I was just coming over to say hi."

"Well, hello," she forced a smile through closed lips.

"It must be fate that you're here tonight," he began. "Because I didn't get your number the last time we were together."

"That's because," she scanned desperately around the room, hoping to lock eyes with someone she knew, but there was no one. "I didn't give you my number."

Cecelia returned her focus to him, and his big brown puppy-dog eyes. "Are you really going to play hard to get?" he leaned forward to stroke her arm, and she caught a whiff of his cologne. "Because you were definitely interested a few weeks ago," She remembered the feeling of his skin under her lips and the goosebumps on her arm rose at his contact.

"Look," she said. "We were both drunk, okay? It was one night."

"I wasn't drunk," Ari said, leaning back. He looked awfully handsome, in a fitted tuxedo, his wild curls tamed and his beard trimmed neatly. Jet-black, thick hair that was disgusting soft and silky. "Were you?"

"No," she confessed, and thought back to their one-night tryst, feeling herself coil up inside. "Look, what do you want?" she hissed through a fake smile.

"I know you're here with someone," he began. "I respect that. Even though he's a bit old for your age."

Cecelia shook her head. "That's one of my professors. I go to Colombia."

"How did I not know you went to Columbia? I went there too, for business."

"Business, yeah?" Cecelia asked. "I can tell."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Because you're trying to sell me something right now," she observed. "What is it? Sex? A date?"

"You know Cecelia, you aren't making this very fun for me," he pouted, reaching up to push a stray curl out of her face. She smacked his hand away, no longer caring that they were in public. "Let me buy you a drink."

"Maybe," she tilted her head. "I will if you stop eye-fucking me like no one is around."

"What do I need to do to prove myself?" he asked. "Come on," Ari leaned in again, this time enough so he could whisper in her ear, low and seductive. "I haven't stopped thinking about you."

"Vodka tonic," she said, turning to face him, their lips inches apart. "That's all you have to prove yourself."

"Good choice," he chuckled, and gestured towards the bar. Slowly they worked their way over to it, Ari's hand on the small of her back. He discarded his empty glass on a passing waiters tray. They dodged people left and right. "You look lovely as ever tonight."

"Yeah," Cecelia smirked. "You do to."

"What brings you here anyways, if you're just a college student?" he asked.

"Networking," she lied. "My professor said it was a good opportunity."

"He's not lying to you," Ari responded, throwing back the rest of his whiskey. "What do you study?"

"Chemistry. I'm working towards my PhD."

Ari's face twisted in confusion. "And you need to network...why?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Cecelia observed, and luckily he was leaning over the bar to order their drinks, unable to respond.

"Can I get a dry Manhattan on the rocks and a vodka tonic, please?" he asked the bartender, smirking back at her.

She had no idea why she was entertaining this. Maybe because it was a nice distraction from why she was really here. Maybe because while she preferred being alone, he was charming and fun and handsome. And rich. Cecelia didn't consider herself a gold-digger, but she did know she could get considerably drunk on good liquor on his tab tonight...if she wanted to.

"Doing anything exciting for the holidays?" Ari asked, pressing the cold drink into her hand, guiding her away from the bar. Cecelia nearly forgot that Christmas was ten days away. She had no idea what she had planned, and wasn't sure if spending money on a flight home to see her mom was worth it. Her mother never seemed exactly excited to see her, neither did her siblings. It'd been that way ever since she got into college, she wasn't sure what the issue was.

"Not sure yet," she answered. "And you?"

"My family lives in town, I usually spend it with them," he answered, sipping his drink. Cecelia copied his movements, enjoying the refreshing beverage as she scanned around the room. "You seem very on-edge," Ari observed, his eyes concerned. "Is something the matter?"

Cecelia shook her head, pursing her lips slightly. "It's just a lot to take in, that's all," she lied. "Hey, do you think they serve tequila shots here?"

Ari narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you suggesting you and I take tequila shots?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," Cecelia smirked slightly.

"If you're trying to network, I don't think that will make the best first impression," Ari tilted his head, studying her.

Cecelia turned back towards the crowd. "Stop trying to figure me out, you're not going to."

She saw him in her peripheral vision, eyeing her some more, before turning. "I'm not trying to figure you out, but I'd like to know why you're really here."

"I told you why I'm here," she said sternly, looking back at him. "Now are you going to buy us shots, or not?"

A half-hour later, Cecelia was considerably buzzed, two drinks and a shot of Patron in. She was giggly and relaxed, and now stood pressed against Ari's chest on the dance floor as he attempted to teach her to Waltz. It was a mess, Cecelia wasn't the most coordinated or graceful, and the alcohol wasn't much of a help. But he didn't really seem to care, his cheeks were a little rosy from the booze and his hair was slowly becoming unkempt pieces falling in his eyes. He managed to coax out a side to her she hadn't really known, and she had to admit, it felt nice to not worry about things for once. He introduced her to a couple of his friends, outgoing businessmen and women who all knew him. When they'd first met, he told her what his job was but now she didn't really remember.

When the music stopped and they took a short break, Cecelia scanned the room and found Collins, clearly searching for her. He was so tall, towering above the crowd, and it didn't take long for them to lock eyes. He gave her an impatient stare, and Cecelia suddenly woke up from her pathetic, tipsy-girl trance.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. "Uh, sorry, I have to go," she managed.

"What?" Ari said, surprised, grabbing her shoulders. "Where?"

"I had fun, I'll see you around," she reassured him.

"Why are you always running?" Ari asked, squeezing her bare shoulders.

Cecelia narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not running, I have to go," she said sternly. "Let me go," her voice lowered to a growl and Ari released her. She could see the disappointment in his features and Cecelia felt a twinge of guilt. _Why do I care what he thinks anyways?_ She didn't have a solid answer to her own question, so she backed away before turning and finding Collins, leaving Ari alone.

* * *

Around an hour later Cecelia retrieved her coat from coat check in somewhat of a trance. The man they had met, Sergio Esposito was the man Collins had been doing business with for nearly a decade, but had wanted to meet Cecelia to be sure she could be trusted. Apparently, she'd passed the test. They shared some more drinks, asked her questions, made introductions. And although Cecelia was relieved the meeting was over, she couldn't shake the feeling that if she fucked up, she'd be dead. Maybe that was the purpose of this whole thing.

Collins had stayed behind to chat with friends, but Cecelia retreated, longing to get out of the uncomfortable dress and into pajamas, curling up in her bed and sleeping off the drunk that she'd become. She hadn't drank this much in so long, but she hadn't wanted to say no in front of the powerful man she'd now be working for. She managed her way carefully down the front steps of the building, and others were leaving as well, even though the party was far from over.

She paused at the bottom of the steps in front of the street, trying to figure out what the best way home was. It was freezing out, and her thin coat wasn't doing much. The buildings were lit up around her and a small dusting of snow fell from the sky. She debated spending money on a cab to walk home, then decided against it. The walk wasn't too far, and she didn't want to spend her money. Shivering, she started heading towards home when she saw Ari standing in a dark peacot, his hands in his pockets. He appeared to be waiting, but for once, looked vulnerable, shivering in the cold. He looked like a goddamn lost puppy dog and Cecelia, in her intoxication, wanted to take him in. Against her better judgement, she made her way over to him.

"Ari," she managed once she was close to him, and he turned and looked at her. "Did you wait up for me?" she asked.

"No," he answered, his tone dry. "I'm waiting for my cab home."

Cecelia nodded, then chewed on her lower lip. "You're ruining your lipstick," he mumbled, staring straight ahead.

Pressing her lips together, Cecelia cursed under her breath before looking back up at him. He seemed upset. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier."

He smirked slightly. "Have you had anything to eat tonight?" he asked her.

Thinking for a moment, she shrugged. "If you count cheese dip, yeah..." she trailed off.

"That doesn't count," he chuckled. "And you look fucking freezing. Let's get dinner."

"What place is open this late?" he asked.

"We're in New York City," he answered. "I think I know a few."

* * *

Cecelia bit into her slice of cheese pizza with pineapple as Ari eyed her from across the booth. She was sobering up, and she was thankful, although she had to admit she was slightly regretting agreeing to eat with him. They were in some diner-like Italian restaurant that stayed open until 3 a.m., so at 11:30 there was a good chance they'd be out before closing. They'd split a pizza, half pepperoni, half cheese with pineapple.

"I'm disgusted that you think pineapple goes on pizza," Ari said flatly.

"I'm disgusted you won't try it," she shot back, a little engrossed in how delicious the food was in her tipsy state.

"I've tried it before," Ari laughed. "It's not good."

"More for me," she shrugged. They were silent for a moment, and Cecelia finished her slice, finally satisfied.

"What were you doing with Sergio Esposito?" Ari asked, leaning forward. She could tell in his eyes he was suspicious, so she lied.

"My professor wanted me to meet him," she answered honestly. It wasn't a complete lie.

Ari nodded, narrowing his eyes and resting back against the booth, but letting the subject go. "Now that you've eaten, I can get you a cab home."

Cecelia pressed her lips together, nodding. "Are you still upset? About earlier?" she asked.

Ari didn't answer, just stared her. She quickly grew uncomfortable under his gaze, trying to think of something to say, but luckily he spoke up before she had to. "Cecelia, I like you," he said, raising a hand to rest on his cheek. "And I think you like me, too. You just have an interesting way of showing it."

Cecelia's cheeks flushed, and she tilted her head, not sure weather to respond or not. She couldn't remember the last relationship she'd been in. She preferred to be alone, she didn't think there was anyone out there who could hold her interest or keep her tied down. Now, she wasn't a free spirit by any means, but she just didn't understand the purpose of a relationship, of a significant other. What could they possibly bring her that she didn't have herself?

He shook his head. "I have somewhere I'd like to take you."

The cab they took to their destination was playing Christmas music, the corny, Mariah Carey, Paul McCartney crap that was played so continuously during the Christmas season it got stuck in your head for weeks on end and drove you insane. But Cecelia didn't mind, at least, not for the ride they were going to.

The cab stopped at Rockefeller Plaza and Ari paid the driver before helping her out. The dress she was wearing was starting to drive her insane, she was pretty sure she was one wardrobe malfunction away from a nip-slip, but she was still buzzed enough she wasn't worried, just irritated.

Being from a small town, Cecelia always had moments where the city took her breath away, and even though, by this point, she'd spent many Christmases in New York, the Christmas tree in front of Rockefeller Center was one thing that never failed to make her stop and stare.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Do you really think I've never been here during Christmas before?" she asked him, tilting her head.

He chuckled. "I'm trying to be romantic."

"It's not very subtle," she noted, smiling slightly.

Ari rolled his eyes. "Just walk with me, will ya?" His Brooklyn accent kicked in slightly, and she had to smile. Cecelia had barely noticed it because she was so used to hearing it all around her everyday, but she still liked it. He was sweet.

Frank Sinatra was being piped over the speakers, one of her favorite songs, "The Christmas Waltz." There was hardly anyone around, it was late.

 _It's that time of year, when the world falls in love_

 _Every song you hear, seems to say_

 _Merry Christmas, may your New Year dreams come true_

Ari's gloved hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Where are you from?"

"Virginia," she responded. "I'm a little far away."

"You going home for the holidays?" he asked.

"Probably not, I'm not sure yet," she shrugged. "I'm a little homesick though, maybe..."

"You get homesick?" he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Yeah, wanna make fun of me for it?" she rolled her eyes, upset that she even bothered to open up.

"It's okay. I live in the same city as my family and I still get homesick," he chuckled. "I see movies with my dad once a week."

Cecelia couldn't help but smile. A genuine one, a happy one. Ari smiled back. She thought for a moment, what was really so bad about all this? Sure, she liked him, but she didn't have to be attached if she didn't want to.

"You were right," she began. "I do like you." He stayed silent, and she looked over to gauge his reaction. There wasn't a clear one, and she continued. "I've never dated anyone...not seriously...or not for a long time. So, I don't really know how this works."

"You don't have to know anything," he answered. "I know you can't help but analyze everything, it's what you're studying," he chuckled. "But this is something that can just be fun. I don't think you'll be bad at it."

Cecelia nodded. "I'm getting cold."

"I'll get you a cab home," he answered, spinning her around so they could walk back towards the street.

"Home?" she asked him as they paused in front of the road, and he raised his hand to hail a cab. "You're not inviting me back to your place? That's rude."

He let his hand fall down to his side and he narrowed his eyes playfully. "How could I be so stupid? I think that's a much better idea."

* * *

 **Hey all! Sorry for the late updating. The hard drive on my laptop crashed so I'm waiting for it to be fixed, plus it was finals week.**

 **I know this was a filler chapter, but I wanted to do something Holiday/Christmas-y because I'm in the spirit and wanted to spread cheer, but I also wanted to give you a bit of backstory for Cecelia and her boo. Plus some of these characters might appear later in the fic! I've hard part of this written for quite awhile, and I wanted to post something so I can digest the MSF and figure out what I want to do next. It was a crazy episode!**

 **If you are a Star Wars fan, check out my Poe/OC fic I just recently updated! I saw Rogue One and it got me so pumped to continue with it.**

 **So drop me a line, even my silent readers! What do you think of Cecelia/Ari? What did you think of the MSF?**


	18. Chapter 18

Cecelia woke up with a throbbing headache, the kind that skewered into your temples like an icepick, one that sleep could not evade. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been hungover, before the world went to shit definitely, but it'd been too long. But she knew what it felt like, familiar as an old friend. An annoying old friend.

She rolled out of bed, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to send her heaving over the toilet. She was sweaty and hungry, she felt grimy and in desperate need of a shower. The evening before she'd split a bottle of wine with Daryl. Well, she'd drank most of the wine. He just watched her sink deeper into the couch in her front room as she rambled nonsense before finally sobering up enough to call it a night and stumble up the stairs. She'd heard her front door slam closed and assumed he had left, but she was too far gone to judge whether he'd left in good spirits.

Ari had died a year and a half ago. It had become some sick habit. She kept track of the time, years, months, weeks, days. This sick obsession was what sent her into overdrive, drinking until she was a sad, mopey mess. It was pathetic and she knew it, and she was still trying to figure out what she was doing, why she was even alive.

After a quick shower, she towel-dryed her hair, brushed her teeth, got dressed and headed downstairs, filling up a glass with cool water and gulping it down, following it with two more. The water helped within 15 minutes, and the tightness between her temples began to unwind as she ate an apple and nursed a cup of black coffee. She usually took it with cream and sugar, but such were delicacies she no longer had access to.

The evening before was fuzzy in her mind, but not completely gone, just a handful of stories and words she recalled telling and listening to. Dear God, she hoped she didn't say anything stupid. She had come to enjoy Daryl's company, he was easy to be around, didn't expect much, and didn't drain her of energy. And unlike Francis, she didn't feel like she had to take care of him. He was good company, as much as she hated to say it. She never imagined she'd get attached to anyone at Alexandria, but here she was.

The slam of the front door startled Cecelia from her lazy stupor and she turned her head slightly, expecting to find Francis getting off of a shift. Instead, it was a woman she'd never seen before, a gun on her hip. The rough-looking woman had to be a Savior, and looked about her own age, maybe younger.

Cecelia placed her head into her palm and glared at the woman from the corner of her eye. "Come on in," she muttered sarcastically. "Can I help you?"

"You're coming with me," the girl informed. "And we're taking the drugs, too."

"Is that so?" Cecelia gestured towards Negan's latest order, which sat packaged on the counter, meticulously organized and labeled, as usual. "Well take what you need, but I'm staying here."

"Negan is at Rick's," the woman began. "He wants to see you."

"Mornings are for coffee and contemplation," Cecelia straightened up, turning towards the woman. Normally she might have just gone with it, but today, she was hungover and pissed off, not in the mood to deal with this brat. "If Negan wants to see me, he can come see me himself."

"Tough shit," In a matter of seconds, the woman clasped Cecelia's right arm behind her tightly, slammed her head against the granite tabletop. And she had thought she had a headache before.

"Okay, okay!" Cecelia hissed in pain. "I'll fucking go."

The woman released her head from the countertop, and Cecelia straightened up. Before the women could release her arm however, she grabbed the cup of coffee with her free hand, whirling it around to splash on the woman's face. Screaming in pain, the woman careened backwards and Cecelia stepped forward, pinning her hands down with the soles of her boots. The woman thrashed beneath her, screaming.

"Don't be dramatic," Cecelia growled. "It wasn't even boiling." It was surely uncomfortable, but the water wasn't hot enough to do the woman any damage, besides make her face tomato-red, though that could have been simply from embarrassment.

In response to the commotion, two men burst through the doors and grabbed Cecelia, peeling her away from the woman, who spat at her after standing up, her clothes stained and damp from the coffee. Once again, Cecelia's arms were pinned behind her back, but stronger, more sturdy. She wasn't getting out of this one.

"Take her stuff. Let's just get her over there," The man ordered the woman, who, despite the edge she tried to maintain, still looked flustered.

By this point, Cecelia wasn't really interested in putting up a huge fight, so she complied with the men, even though they were awfully harsh to her, dragging her along and pinching her arms as they made their way to Rick's home. It wasn't her best day.

They made a big show of delivering her up the front porch steps of Rick's home, into the front door without a warning. Negan stood with his back to them, hovering over the stove, although his head snapped up when they entered the room. Looking around, Cecelia was surprised, she'd only been to Rick's a few times, but his home was similar to hers, though he was nowhere to be found. She remembered he'd left a few days latter to go out for supplies. So what the hell was Negan doing here?

When he turned towards them, Cecelia realized he was holding Rick's daughter, Judith, who couldn't be much older than one. If Rick knew Negan was holding her, he'd have a conniption. With a curt nod, Negan dismissed the men and the woman, and he eyed her suspiciously, coffee still dripping down her front. Frowning, Negan looked at her.

Cecelia noticed he'd shaved recently, and the absence of his beard revealed a sharp jawline, though she had to admit he looked kind of strange without his usual scruff. "Good afternoon, sweetheart," Negan smirked, revealing prominent dimples in both cheeks. She wondered how it was possible to be so handsome and awful at the same time. "What the fuck did you do to Betty?"

Cecelia shrugged. "She interrupted my morning coffee."

"It's nearly noon. I wouldn't say it's morning."

His slicked back hair, leather jacket and freshly-shaved face looked very 1950's. "What the hell did you do to your face?" She asked, changing the subject. "Did you just come from an audition for _Grease?_ How'd it go?"

Negan's smile fell from his lips and Cecelia took a step closer to him. "You better shape up, cause I need a man," she continued to tease, but then composed herself, stone-faced.

Reaching out with his free hand, he cupped her chin. Cecelia was surprised to see that Judith's head rested against his shoulder, looking very content. "Dark circles, bloodshot eyes...you're hungover," he chuckled. "Nice to see you're having a little fun here. Or maybe getting too comfortable."

Cecelia stepped away. Commotion from behind her caused Cecelia to turn quickly, where she saw Carl standing. His hair hung in front of his bad eye, the one he normally wore a patch on. Suddenly, Negan thrusted Judith towards her. "Ah, Carl," Negan sighed. "I've invited Cecelia over for lunch, isn't that nice?"

Carl didn't respond, just glowered at Negan, who cocked his head. "Why don't you head on upstairs, kid? Maybe adjust your fucking attitude before lunch is ready." Carl didn't even say anything, just went upstairs without a word. Cecelia shot him a wide-eyed look, and wondered if he even noticed.

Negan turned back to her. "Now we just gotta wait on Olivia, who's bringing us some lemonade for the afternoon."

Judith was dead weight in Cecelia's arms, squirmy and fussy. "So what is this? Playing house?" She inquired, surprised at the weird domesticity of the usually wild and feral man standing in front of her.

"We are waiting for Rick the Prick. Carl snuck into one of our trucks, gunned down some of my men back at the Sanctuary, and now I gotta talk to his father about it," he growled, watching Judith, who was whining in her arms. "Boy, she does not like you, does she?"

Cecelia rolled her eyes, "Can you take her?"

Negan did so without arguing, and surprisingly, Judith quieted down quickly. "I take it you never had children?" Negan asked, giving her the side-eye. Cecelia shook her head no.

"Why not?" Negan asked.

"Never wanted any, I was too busy," she said. "I was the oldest of my siblings, my mom was always working, so I ended up taking care of them all. It wasn't my cup of tea," she finished. Truthfully, she had always hated kids, but after marrying Ari she always imagined a little boy, with his father's dark curly hair and big brown eyes. Ari would have adored a child, he would have made a perfect father. She wouldn't have minded that, somewhere down the line, and now it was too late.

"And where was daddy?" Negan asked, his tone condescending.

Cecelia shook her head. "My father was in and out. He only came around when he wanted money, and my mother always gave in." Cecelia never liked her father, not even from the beginning. He'd come around and bring the kids candy. He smelled like cheap liquor and cigarettes and Cecelia's mom would worship the ground he walked on, only for him to take everything and leave a few days after showing up. It happened once every couple of years and it always broke her, to see her mother so weak. She never understood, but she never told her mother to stand her ground, she just watched happen over and over.

Cecelia's childhood was mostly a blur, mostly negative memories she'd spent years trying to pack deep in her brain and forget. But every now and then, she'd think of something and it would all come rushing back, horrifyingly vivid and unforgiving.

Negan smirked at her, and she wanted to slap the grin off his face. "No kids for you, David?" She asked him, expecting his real name to piss him off, but it didn't.

"None for me," he chuckled. "The wife and I never had much luck in that department."

His ability to be so nonchalant pissed her off, but she was too exhausted to continue the conversation. She stepped away from him and sat at the counter, the lack of food in her stomach making her nauseous again. Judith fussed as he lowered her into her high-chair.

"Well if you ever change your mind," he chuckled, stepping towards her, in front of her so she could see him. "If you decide you do want a baby, I definitely could help you out."

Cecelia outwardly gagged, biting down on her lower lip and covering her mouth with her fist. She didn't make eye contact with him.

"Jesus, you're more hungover than I thought," he chuckled. "Don't act so fucking disgusted, sweetheart. Have you thought about my proposition any?"

"I don't want to have sex with you," Cecelia growled, standing from her place at the bar, moving away from him, but he grabbed her by the waist and drew her in.

"Are you fucking sure?" He asked, pulling her closer.

"Ye-yes." Cecelia cleared her throat, and luckily was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Denise entered, nervously, tentatively, with a container of powdered lemonade. Cecelia pulled herself away, staring straight ahead as she handed the lemonade to Negan, who thrust it at Cecelia. "Make this, I'm going to put Judith down. Olivia, come with me."

Cecelia watched as Olivia picked up the baby and Negan followed her upstairs. The woman was terrified, Cecelia could tell, and she almost felt bad. At least Negan had a sweet spot for her, no matter how horribly behaved she was. Although most of her encounters with Negan tended to be intense and awful, she couldn't help the feeling of impending doom that hung over her, today in particular. Something bad was going to happen, she could feel it in her bones.

* * *

 **Okay, sorry it's been awhile since my last update. I've been busy with the holidays and all, and my laptop just crashed so I'm using an old iPad. I am kind of trying to set up the next few chapters, but I might not be updating as frequently, just because of classes starting again, and it'd like to figure out the little details of what's going to happen next.**

 **In the meantime, check out my Poe Dameron x OC fic if you're a Star Wars fan, it's called "Something to Believe In."**

 **Let me know what you all think of this chapter.**


	19. Chapter 19

Cecelia stood on the front porch of Rick's home, holding Judith on one hip. Beside her stood Olivia and Carl, both gazing forward with the same pensive stare she was sure lingered on her face. In the street before them, Negan stood playing a game of pool and drinking expensive whiskey with Spencer Monroe, the man who'd welcomed them to Alexandria the first night that she and Francis had been discovered by Rick's group. Things had changed considerably since then, not entirely for the worse or for the better. Things had just...changed.

Only able to watch from afar for so long, Cecelia handed Judith to Carl. She wasn't interested in the child, but Negan had instructed her to hold the baby after the lunch that he had prepared. She had to admit, he wasn't a bad cook, and the meal was more than she was used to, but it had been filled with tension. Around the others, Negan wasn't as flirtatious as he acted around her. In some ways she liked it, and in some ways, it was terrifying.

A crowd had began to form, watching the pair tentatively as they walked around, chatting casually. Cecelia wasn't sure what had triggered this, but she disliked it, and had a feeling of dread wash over her. Something bad was going to happen. She saw Francis walk up, and made eye contact with him. He quietly came to her side. He knew better than to ask what was going on.

"I wanna talk to you about Rick," she heard Spencer say. He refused to make eye contact with the nefarious man, focusing instead on the whiskey in the tumbler he held. Cecelia could tell, even from where she was standing, his fingers were shaking.

Negan looked somewhat surprised by the proposition, but played along. "Alright, talk to me Spencer. Talk to me about Rick."

"I get what you're trying to do here," Spencer began. "What you're trying to build. I'm not saying I agree with your methods, but I get it. You're making a network, you're making people contribute to a greater good. Makes sense. But you should know that Rick Grimes has a history of not working well with others."

Tilting her head, Cecelia felt her brow furrow, slightly concerned about where this was going.

"Is that so?" Negan responded, seeming uninteresting. He appeared annoyed, his once light game of pool now being ruined by whatever it was Spencer was trying to tell him.

"Rick wasn't the original leader here," Spencer went on, leaning over the pool table to take a shot. "My mom was. She was doing a good job of it. Then she died. Not long after Rick showed up here. Same with my brother, same with my dad."

Negan frowned at his revelation, suddenly appearing a bit more interested in Spencer's topic of conversation. "So everything was peachy here, for what? Years? And then Rick shows up and suddenly you're an orphan?" Negan cracked a wicked smile. "That's the saddest story I ever heard. Good thing for you, he's not in charge anymore."

"Doesn't matter," Spencer shook his head. "His ego's out of control. He'll find a way to screw things up. To try and do things his way, to try and take him over. That's what he did with my mom. That's what he'll do again."

Cecelia felt her heart drop. She couldn't imagine how Rick would feel to betrayed like this. Sure, she never liked him at first, she didn't like being told what to do. But the more time she spent at Alexandria, the more she realized he only got involved when he had to. Essentially, Rick left her alone. Of course, she didn't know about his past, but he didn't know about hers. It was okay. It worked out just fine. Anger rose in her chest.

Rosita had appeared now, standing in front of her and Francis. Cecelia didn't know what was going on between the pair, but she didn't want to ask. Although now, Rosita stood rigid in front of them, ignoring Francis and focusing intensely on the two men playing games in front of her.

"What exactly are you proposing be done about that?" Negan paused now, sitting his drink on the ledge of the pool table, shifting his weight to his heels, apparently no longer wanting to continue the game. But Spencer didn't seem to notice.

"I am my mother's son," Spender said confidently, his body language no longer timid as it once was. "I can be the leader she was. That's what this place needs, that's what you need." He looked Negan directly in the eye.

Smirking, Negan picked up his pool stick and continued on with the game, sipping his whiskey. "So I should put you in charge, that's what you're saying?"

"We'd be much better off."

"You know, I'm thinking Spencer," Negan stepped back. "I'm thinking how Rick threatened to kill me, he really hates my guts." Running a hand across his clean-shaved, sharp jawline, he appeared to be thinking. "But he is out there, right now, gathering shit for me to make sure I don't hurt any of the fine people that live here. He is swallowing his hate and _getting shit done_. That takes guts."

Pondering, Negan took another shot, though it was clear neither of the men cared about the game of pool before them. He paused for a long time though, focused, taking his time, drawing out the suspense as Spencer waited for him to continue. Negan straightened up.

"And then there's you," Negan pointed at Spencer with the pool stick before setting it down on the table. "the guy who waited until Rick was gone so he could sneak over here to come talk to me, so he could get me to do his dirty work so he could take Rick's place. So I gotta ask, if you wanna take over, why not just kill Rick yourself and just take over?"

"No, no, I didn't...I don't..." Spencer began stuttering as Negan walked forward to him, stalking him like a predator on it's prey.

"You know what I'm thinking, cause I have a guess," Negan said, inches away from his face. "It's because you got no...guts..." In one swift movement, Negan unsheathed the machete at his side and sliced Spencer's stomach open. Blood and bits of intestine gushed forward as Spencer fell to his knees, choking on his own blood, gasping in and out.

Cecelia felt every bit of air leave her body as she exhaled quickly, her eyes widening. Others weren't able to be so subtle, gasping or moaning out loud, some even letting out choked sobs as Spencer bled out in the middle of the street.

Negan laughed manically, moving backwards to pick up Lucille, who'd been sitting next to the table. "How embarrassing! There they are! They were you inside you the whole time, you _did_ have guts! I've never been so wrong in my whole life!" He turned towards the crowd now, raising his arms as if it was a performance and they were supposed to be enjoying the show.

"Now someone get up here and clean this mess up..." Cecelia's eyes flickered quickly to the puddle blood that spread around Spencer. "Oh, anyone wanna finish the game?...Anybody?...Anybody?...Come on...I was winning!" Negan picked up Lucille, parading her around as if someone was actually going to volunteer to continue on.

The sound of a gunshot cracked in Cecelia's ears without warning, and she blinked as she watched two Saviors tackle Rosita to the ground. Francis lept forward toward the woman, and the only thing Cecelia could do in that moment was hold him back, to terrified to see what'd they do to him if he tried to save her.

"FUCK!" Negan yelled. "What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me? You shot Lucille!" Negan roared. Cecelia'd seen him mad before but not like this, not so unhinged, like some kind of wild animal.

"She got in the way," Rosita growled from her place on the ground, a knife to her neck.

Bending over, Negan picked up the shell off the ground in front of them, examining it. "What is this? This little bad boy made from scratch? Who made this?"

The Savior moved the knife to her cheek. "It was me," Rosita hissed, pressing her cheek to the knife, blood dripping from a small cut it made.

"Wow! What a fuckin' badass!" Negan laughed, leaning forward. "I know there's no way you made this princess, so who the hell was it?"

No one answered, and Negan stared them all down. "Fine, have it your way, kill somebody..."

Without warning, one of the Saviors aimed his gun, and shot behind her. Cecelia turned to watch Olivia fall to the ground on Rick's front porch. Carl knelt next to her in terror.

Cecelia took one step forward, unable to handle this anymore. "It was me!" Cecelia exclaimed. "I made it!"

Negan turned to her, stalking closer. Flecks of blood covered his chin and neck, and she breathed, tilting her head back to stare him in the eye. "Really sweetheart? After everything we've been through, after all the shit I've fucking done for you...this is how you repay me?"

Cecelia set her jaw, hoping he couldn't see right through her.

"No," A choked sob escaped from behind her. "It was me." Glancing over her shoulder, Eugene was a trembling mess, tears streaming down his face." He went on, mumbling about the logistics of making the bullet and Negan raised his hand to pause him.

"I fucking believe you," He closed his eyes, and when he opened them looked back at Cecelia. "Never fucking lie to me again, sweetheart."

He turned around, and Cecelia turned to find Rick running towards them. She watched him take in the scene before them, horrified.

"Rick! Look everybody it's Rick."

"We had an agreement," Rick growled, and Cecelia had to applaud him for being so relaxed, considering the circumstances. They exchanged a few words. Cecelia struggled to process everything that had just happened, the shock finally hitting her. She missed most of their exchange just because of how alarmed she was.

The Saviors began to clear out, taking a terrified Eugene with them. They had destroyed so much and then just...left. Negan brushed past her without a word, which wasn't a surprise. A strange part of her felt bad for lying...for a moment. Then it passed. She didn't really care if he was angry with her, let him be. As the residents of Alexandria cleared out, Francis rushed forward towards Rosita, leaving Cecelia alone.

* * *

It was dark now, and Cecelia had spent the last few hours wandering up and down the streets, trying to keep her mind off things. She wasn't interested in helping clean up Spencer or Olivia, so she fled. And she wasn't interested in going home, either. Finally she got up the courage to do so, and when she got to the stop of the steps, she saw Rick sitting on their porch swing.

"Cecelia," He stood, looking frazzled and tired.

"Can I help you?" she asked, pausing as she was going to open the door.

"Aaron was assaulted...pretty aggressively...by one of The Saviors," He ran a hand through his curly hair. "We don't have any doctors here, but I thought maybe...you might have something for him. To help with the pain."

Cecelia nodded. "Yeah, I can check. Does he need antibiotics...for potential infections?" she asked.

Rick nodded. "If you have any."

"Yeah," she said. "Just give me a minute."

Cecelia pulled open the door, shutting it behind her and halted. She heard...piano. A long time ago, before all this, she remembered Francis telling her he'd played, at nice clubs and bars...a break from his usual day job, a way to make some extra money. But she'd never heard him play. The small piano that sat in the corner of their living room had sat untouched for the entire time they'd been in Alexandria, until now. For a moment, Cecelia let her head fall back against the small wall that separated the entrance to her home from the living room and she closed her eyes, listening.

When she straightened up and turned the corner, however, she was surprised to see Francis wasn't alone, and Rosita sat in a chair across from him. They both looked up as the wooden floor creaked under Cecelia's feet and she forced a smile. "Oh," she began. "I, uh, didn't mean to interrupt, I just had to get something."

Feeling like an intruder in her own home, Cecelia rummaged through her cabinet of handmade medications, pulling out some antibiotics and painkillers, before nodding once and exiting the house, sealing the door shut behind her.

Rick accepted the medications graciously and basically ran down the front steps. Cecelia stood on the front porch and watched him disappear into the dark night. She had no idea where to go, now that she knew Rosita was here. She had nothing against the two of them, she just felt alone.

Stepping off of the front porch, she began walking again, this time to a familiar house down the street. Cecelia hopped up the steps and knocked on the door. Within a few moments, Daryl answered.

"Hey," He answered.

"Hey," Cecelia began, pursing her lips. "I...Do you mind if I come in?"

Daryl shook his head and she brushed past him. "What's goin' on?" He asked, pushing some hair out of his eyes.

"Today has been...long," she managed.

Daryl nodded in agreement.

"Anyways, I didn't want to be at home. So I thought I'd say hi."

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No," Cecelia shook her head. "I just didn't want to be there...too lonely."

"Want a drink?" Daryl asked.

"That'd be great," Cecelia said quickly, and sat on one of his couches when he went into the kitchen.

There'd be very few times in her life when Cecelia felt lost, but today was one of those times. Things had changed so much...she had changed so much. But for some reason she could not shake today out of her head, despite what she had seen. She wasn't sure why she was here, she wondered why. There was a part of her that felt out of place.

She was interrupted by Daryl returning, pressing a glass of clear liquid in her hand. She took a sip and coughed, the liquor burning her throat. It was gin, cheap gin probably. It dawned on her that she hadn't eaten in a while, but she didn't have much of an appetite. Daryl sat next to her, close, a little too close for her liking, but she didn't think it'd be nice to ask him to move after his hospitality.

They talked for awhile about some mindless, easy things, things that took her mind off the day and the emptiness inside her.

Biting her lip, she gulped down the drink and poured herself another from the bottle Daryl had sat on the floor.

"You okay?" Daryl asked.

"Long day," Cecelia responded. "It was a lot."

"I heard," he said gently.

He hadn't been there to witness everything, and Cecelia was envious of him, she wasn't sure why Negan always seemed to rope her into these things. If he'd never invited her over, she'd never have been involved in the mess of the afternoon.

"I guess it's not that, I just...don't know if I like the way things have changed since I got here," Cecelia shook her head. "I don't feel like the same person, I've been roped into so many things I don't want to be a part of."

Daryl frowned, not responding, and the buzz of the liquor hit Cecelia. She leaned forward slightly, setting her drink down and placing her elbows on her knees. She looked at him.

"You've been with Rick for awhile, maybe it just is natural. But I'm not used to so much...happening. With Ari it was just us...this small group of people and-"

"Whose Ari?" Daryl asked.

"My husband, sorry," Cecelia corrected herself. "And then with Francis it was still just us...and now he's even got someone else."

Cecelia stared straight ahead, shaking her head softly from side to side. She felt Daryl's eyes on her, and when she turned to face him, he was closer than she expected. For a brief moment, he leaned in, letting his lips brush against her own. It was a very chaste, innocent kiss, but Cecelia immediately pulled away, feeling guilty, rising to her feet.

"I can't-" she said.

"Cece, it's okay-"

"Don't call me that," she gasped, shaking her head. "I'm sorry...this isn't...I have to go."

In one swift movement she strode across the room, outside. This was too much for her. The liquor made her head spin but she wasn't incapable of getting home okay. Ignoring Daryl, who called after her, she stepped outside into the night. This was wrong.

* * *

 **Oh no! Do you think Cecelia really doesn't like him, or she just feels bad? We'll see.**

 **Updates: It's been awhile since I added a chapter to this, but I'm also working on another FanFiction, it's a Poe Dameron x OC (Check it out if you'd like), plus I'm still getting into the swing of things back at school. But I have to say I'm a bit disappointed in my writing quality/time I'm putting into this. So I'm going to start going through chapters, trying to edit them and improve my writing. No big changes will be made, but its something I feel desperately needs done, I'm kinda feeling uninspired lately.**

 **Anyways, check out my Poe Dameron x OC fic, "Something To Believe In" if you are interested.**

 **Please let me know how I am doing! Drop me a line!**


	20. Chapter 20

Cecelia woke up at her usual time, around 8 a.m., and immediately headed for the shower. The past few weeks, she'd been taking shifts walking the perimeter of Alexandria. Since the last time Negan had been in town, everyone was on edge, so security was increased, even though it wouldn't do much.

She wondered how the leaders of the town were taking all this. From her observations, Rick and his closest confidants, Michonne, Daryl, and others seemed to be planning something. If what Spencer had said to Negan was right, she wouldn't be surprised if they would retaliate soon.

Rick really didn't seem to be the violent man Spencer had painted him to be. Sure, he was a force to be reckoned with, but Cecelia respected that. You had to be tough, or you'd die. Even Negan's actions, Cecelia thought, were justified sometimes. As disgusting and vile as he was, she knew his horrific acts weren't done in vain.

Sorer, than usual, Cecelia spent extra time showering, letting the hot water run over her fatigued muscles. Lately, she'd taken to jogging and exercising more often, paranoid that she was getting out of shape. Getting back into a workout routine proved to be more difficult than she'd imagined, but she figured in a few weeks she'd be less sore and more strong.

Turning to face the steamy spray, she closed her eyes and let the water splash her straight into her face, the noise of the running water drowning out the sounds from the world around her. It was hypnotic.

After she was cleaned off, she toweled off gently and wrapped a towel under her shoulders, wiping the steam off the bathroom mirror to look at her reflection. Reaching towards her toothbrush and toothpaste, she brushed her teeth absentmindedly, glancing at tiny details around the bathroom she'd never noticed before, the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, the golden flecks in the counter's marble. She stared at the rest of the steam covered mirror, which she'd just cleaned the night before, and suddenly stopped brushing.

She spat the excess toothpaste out of her mouth and rinsed hastily, wiping off with the back of her hand, peering closer as letters in the mirror faded. There, clear as day, the initials _SDE_ had been written, with a finger, probably. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Blinking once, she stared forward, feeling her heart rate increase. S. D. E. Sergio. Dominic. Esposito. _Fuck._

Glancing behind her, she found nothing. This couldn't be real. It wasn't real. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and shook her head, wiping the letters from the reflective surface. It was time.

Hastily, Cecelia got dressed in a loose white t-shirt and a heavy jacket - since the weather was now reasonably cold and brisk. She headed downstairs, rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen until she finally found a piece of pen and paper. Then she scribbled out a quick letter, folding it in thirds, before sprinting down the hall and placing it in the bedroom, under the pillow. Francis wasn't going to be back from watch until later that evening, she had perimeter duty, but she'd be back before him, which was perfect.

Afraid she'd be late, Cecelia hopped down the front steps, pausing when she saw Daryl not far down the street speaking with Rick. On purpose, Cecelia had been avoiding him for the past few weeks. There was no conversation to be had, there was nothing she wanted to say. Nothing he'd tell her would change things. She couldn't explain what she was feeling, but everything was wrong. Cecelia wasn't the woman Daryl needed, and she didn't know what made him think she was.

The time, the emotional investment, the support. He was a broken man in many ways, but she wasn't able to fix that. In her own way, she was just as bad, she just didn't wear her heart on her sleeve like he did.

But as Cecelia walked in the opposite direction of him, she heard him call out her name. At first she continued walking, but then he called out again, and she knew it was wrong to ignore him. He'd done nothing bad besides express himself, Cecelia just didn't want to deal with the consequences of walking away.

"Where've you been?" Daryl asked her as she turned around. He was walking towards her quickly, and he paused within a few feet of her.

"What do you mean?" Cecelia asked, squinting. Despite the cold weather, it was still sunny out. She had always hated the winter, but the sun helped.

"Ya've been avoidin' me," Daryl stated.

"No I haven't," Cecelia tried her best to feign surprised, as though it was unreasonable to accuse her of such a horrible thing.

Daryl stared back at her, squinting.

"Fine," Cecelia began. "I have been avoiding you," she said, feeling her armor build up. "What's the issue?"

"I jus' wanta know what I did wrong," Daryl said.

"Nothing," Cecelia wrinkled her nose. "Look, I'm late for perimeter duty, I gotta go."

"Shoun't we talk?" Daryl asked as she backed away, reaching out to stop her.

"What's there to talk about?" Cecelia asked, pausing again just out of his reach. Daryl didn't respond, so she just met his eye contact for a long moment. "Nothing. I have to go."

As she was about to leave him standing there, a nagging voice in the back of her head argued with her. This wasn't fair, or right. He deserved better than this, and she couldn't afford to make anymore enemies.

"Daryl," She began, turning back to face him. "I can't do this right now. It's not the right time. And you're a good person. It's just…..It's just not the time."

He stared back, his eyes revealing nothing to her. "I have to go," she said. "It's time." Daryl looked puzzled by her last statement, his brows knitting together under his long hair, and she secretly hoped that he'd always be puzzled by it. Maybe it wouldn't end up becoming the truth.

As Cecelia headed towards the front gates where she was to begin her shift, she paused when she spotted Rosita. The woman had spent more time at Francis' and Cecelia's house lately. While Cecelia was a bit unsure of what the nature of their relationship was, she didn't really care, and it didn't really bother her. However, Cecelia couldn't help but see Rosita's anger as a weakness. Rosita let her feelings control herself to the point of shooting Negan, and now all of Alexandria was in danger. Maybe in her mind it was justified, but even Cecelia knew better. She'd learned to deal with Negan on a personal level, without an audience. Olivia was dead. Eugene was as good as dead, and now everyone had to work harder to pull together extra resources they didn't have to begin with.

Because Cecelia preferred to keep her feelings towards others to herself, she greeted Rosita with a nod. The two wordlessly walked through the front fence, sliding it closed behind them. Because the Saviors did a good job of killing off walkers in the area, they didn't exactly have to worry too much about self-defense. When Cecelia heard a twig snap distantly in the woods, she knew it was time. As they walked, Cecelia finally built up the courage to speak.

"I don't think there's whole lot going on today," Cecelia began, pausing and turning to Rosita, who turned back towards her. "Do you want to split up? You take one side, I take the other?"

Rosita pondered, but Cecelia knew regardless of what she said, she would make it work. "I don't know if that's the best idea right now..." Rosita began.

"We both have walkie-talkies," Cecelia argued. "If we need anything we can use those. And if we don't meet back here in an hour, then we'll know something is often."

Rosita sighed. "Okay, but make sure to check-in on the walkie-talkies."

As Cecelia turned away, Rosita interrupted her. "I have a question," Rosita began, and Cecelia grew anxious.

"Yeah?" Cecelia asked.

"You and Francis...there's nothing going on there right?" Rosita questioned. She seemed genuinely concerned, so Cecelia let her guard down a bit.

"No," Cecelia shook her head. "Nothing at all. I've just known him awhile."

Rosita nodded. "I just have always felt like...you're annoyed with me whenever I come around. I wanted to be sure I wasn't interrupting something." She dropped her eyes for a moment before looking sheepishly back up at her. Even if Cecelia did like Francis, she wouldn't get involved. It wasn't her place to dictate who Francis chose to spend time with. For awhile, she wished he was more independent, and now she'd received what she wished for. Cecelia just didn't know why it was so hard.

"It's just been us for a long time...so it's different," Cecelia answered. "He seems to like you a lot...you have nothing to worry about."

Rosita smiled slightly, though her guard was still up. Cecelia couldn't hate her for the things that she'd done, because it dawned on her they were a lot alike. And even Cecelia wasn't immune to making stupid decisions.

They parted ways, and Cecelia walked for probably fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of Rosita. With every step she grew more and more anxious, wondering to herself what was going to happen next, if she even would see Alexandria again. She was glad her last interaction was positive, because she may have very few left.

She continued on, however, not pausing until she heard footsteps behind her. Halting, Cecelia turned around to face a man clad in all black standing in front of her. She didn't recognize him, but it didn't matter, because she knew who he was with.

"Cecelia," He smiled slightly. "I imagine you were expecting me?"

Biting her cheek she forced a smile. "Of course."

Her heart was racing, but she tried her best not to let it show. Rustling in the leaves behind her let Cecelia know this man wasn't alone, there were others, there was no use putting up a fight. Even if she somehow got free, she'd only be prolonging the inevitable. She should have known this would come back to bite her in the ass. She'd been so foolish once she stopped working with Dr. Collins, as if it was something she could simply walk away from.

"Did you like what I left you in your bathroom this morning?"

Cecelia didn't respond.

"Drop the walkie-talkie...you're a smart girl, right?"

Cecelia nodded, unclipping the walkie-talkie from the belt loop of her jeans, turning it off and dropping it in the leaves.

"And the knife...no funny business."

Cecelia obeyed, staring at the only two things that could save her, now lying at her feet. If Negan hadn't taken all their guns, maybe this would be different. Cecelia would have a fighting chance. _David_. She'd probably seen him for the last time already. Instead of relief, however, Cecelia felt a slight pain in her chest.

"We're going on a trip, Cecelia. Hope you're ready."

Cecelia took a deep breath, nodding, as she was seized from behind. Something was pulled over her eyes, and she could no longer see as her arms were zip-tied behind her. She didn't bother to fight, to flail or scream. And when a damp rag was placed over her face and nose, she breathed in it's pungent odor, there was no use resisting. It only took a few minutes for her to succumb to the chloroform as the men began dragging her through the woods. Everything went black.

* * *

 **As some of you guessed, someone from Cecelia's past is back! I'm pumped for the next arc in the plot of this story! What do you think is going to happen next? Let me know, and leave me a review.**


	21. Chapter 21

The throbbing pain in the side of Cecelia's head woke her from whatever sort of trance she'd been in for the past few hours. Shivering, she tried her best to orient herself in the pitch-black dark room. Groaning, she squeezed her temples between her thumb and forefinger in an effort to quell the pain. The events leading up to her current state were foggy in her head, she was having trouble remembering who had brought her here.

Her effort to recall the circumstances only served to exacerbate her headache, so she instead took her time flexing each and every body part to assess any damage done. Besides the throbbing headache and a growling stomach, nothing else caused her any pain. Cecelia righted herself, sitting up. Her head spun and she leaned back against the cement wall. Gradually, her eyes were adjusting to the darkness in the room, and she could make out a faint sliver of light coming from the crack underneath the door. She appeared to be in some sort of utility closet, with a few brooms and some cleaning supplies, and a various assortment of other items.

Standing up, she jiggled the handle on the door only to find it was locked from the outside. Cecelia leaned against the door, placing her ear to it's cold metal surface. She listened for any signs of life in the hallway but found none. There was nothing that hinted at where she may be, how she might get out.

"Damn!" she growled under her breath, kicking the door in frustration. She pounded on it with her fists. No such luck, no noise. Her head throbbed again, intensifying, and she lowered herself to the ground again. In front of her was a water bottle, and she reached out, parched, only to realize it was empty. She tossed it unceremoniously across the room. Glancing up, her eyes paused when she saw an air vent above the shelf of miscellaneous items. She stared back at the empty bottle, frowning, before standing up.

Cecelia used what little strength she had to push the shelf towards the middle of the room, then scaled it to get a closer look at the air vent. One of the screws was loose, so she used her fingers to twist it out. The three other screws were still tightly holding the vent in place, but she was able to get her fingers underneath the loose corner and bend the metal back.

She took a deep breath and jumped off the shelf, her hands still gripping the corner of the vent. Another screw stripped out of place and Cecelia hissed as the sharp metal sliced her palm. The blood ran down her arm, warm and sticky, and she sighed, grabbing a large bottle of rubbing alcohol that sat on the shelf and dousing it on her palm. She grabbed a cleaning rag and wrapped it around her hand. That would probably cause an infection, but she had bigger worries at the moment. With the one side of the vent completely disconnected from the wall, she was able to bend it back pretty quickly to get a better look inside. It was too small for her to fit in, but the duct sloped downwards, and she could see light pouring in through the openings of other vents.

If she couldn't get someone to hear her in here, she'd get someone to hear her out there. She had a few options, she just had to make sure all the materials were available. A small trash can sat in the opposite corner of the room, and Cecelia dumped it on the floor, choking back bile as the smell of rotting food hit her. Hell, this garbage was probably two years old. Balled up at the bottom of the trash was a sheet of aluminum foil. _Perfect._ She unrolled the discarded metal and removed a piece of moldy bread and some black, slimy substance that may have been meat at some point. She dropped it next to the water bottle and then began searching the shelves.

"Hydrochloric acid..." she murmured to herself, struggling to read the labels in the dark room. Each product she had to bring back to the door where the small bit of light flooded in. She found a large bottle of masonry cleaner that would do the trick.

Grabbing one of the brooms, Cecelia held the handle firmly, and twisted off the broom head. Now all she needed was a sharp surface. The metal shelving units weren't ideal; but they were all she had, so she used their sharp corners to begin whittling the blunt end of the broom. She worked for what felt like hours, but managed to create a point that gave her a decent makeshift weapon.

After she was finished, Cecelia turned back to her home science experiment. She ripped apart the aluminum foil and begin to roll them into tiny spheres, inserting them into the empty water bottle until there was nothing left to the scrap. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be able to attract some attention. Taking a deep breath, she walked back towards the vent with the supplies in tow. Then she unscrewed the jug of masonry cleaner, pouring a generous amount in the water bottle before screwing on it's plastic cap. She quickly scaled the shelving unit, shaking the bottle firmly a few times before sliding it down the air duct. Quickly, she hopped down from the shelving unit and crouched in the opposite corner, plugging her ears.

Only a few moments later did she hear the explosion echo throughout the building.

* * *

As Negan sat in the passenger's seat while Simon drove their caravan to Alexandria, he was hoping this check-in wouldn't end in a clusterfuck like it had the last time. He hoped they'd have his shit so he could be in and out as fast as possible. He usually wasn't one to go on the runs, he would just let one of his men take charge - someone like Simon, or Dwight.

However, he felt his presence was needed for the next few visits, just to drive the events of their last meeting home for Rick, who still didn't seem to understand the arrangement they currently had. Although he did feel a slight bit of pity for the man, there was something really entertaining about watching Rick Grimes slowly fall apart. Based on his actions, Negan guessed it was one of the first times shit didn't go his way, and he couldn't seem to handle it.

Negan couldn't say, however, he wasn't completely unhappy to be visiting Alexandria, since he'd see Cecelia again. She was definitely a spitfire, and for sure a pain in his ass sometimes, but he enjoyed the little game of cat and mouse they had going on. Since they were clearly attracted to each other, it was only a matter of time before she gave in and let him fuck her, but right now the chase intrigued him. Sure, he could get sex from any of his wives at any time, but this was a different endeavor he was sure would eventually pay off, and waiting was almost as good as the eventual act.

Beyond that, she was becoming an imperative part of The Saviors well-being as an organization, they clearly were better off having access to medications and antibiotics. Of all the people at Alexandria, she was probably the least of his worries. Cecelia gave him a lot of shit, but it was more amusing than an actual threat. He'd never had a relationship like that with anyone that worked for him, though he still hadn't figured out whether or not she respected his authority. All that mattered to him at the moment was that she got her shit done without fucking up.

As they pulled through the gates to Alexandria, Negan recognized one of the men on duty as Francis, the copper-haired bitch that Cecelia seemed to have latched onto for whatever reason. She'd nearly killed Negan that first day in his office trying to get him back from The Saviors, and he had to respect that nearly nothing intimidated that woman. In time he knew she'd come around, and she'd be a valuable member of The Saviors. She just needed some convincing, perhaps more than usual.

Rick wasn't around, probably off trying to scrape together some items for The Saviors, which didn't seem to be working so well, since their possessions were whittling down quickly. Negan strolled around with Simon and a few other men, keeping his face straight, firm. He watched the way people cowered as he walked by in amusement. Though most of Rick's group were strong, many of the residents here had some learning to do.

Dwight approached Simon and Negan with a worried look on his face, his cheeks red, out of breath from running. "Your cook doesn't have our stuff."

Negan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dwight shook his head. "We tore apart the house. We couldn't find anything."

Negan's eyes swiveled to Cecelia's house. From a distance, Negan saw Francis walk up his front porch steps and into the house he shared with Cecelia, giving double-takes to The Saviors that stood on his front porch, saying nothing as he brushed past them.

"Come with me, we're taking care of this," Negan growled, patting Dwight on the shoulder firmly. It wasn't like Cecelia to blatantly skip out on an order. She always had everything organized and packaged neatly with dosage instructions, set out on her counter for The Saviors to take without any altercations. "Where the fuck is she?" he growled at Dwight, swinging Lucille over his shoulder.

"We couldn't find her in the house," Dwight sighed. "She might be somewhere else in the town."

"We can ask loverboy where she is," Negan said as he barreled up the front porch steps, his men following him in. Francis sat at the dining room table, arms crossed, leaning back, waiting, with a glass of water in front of him.

"Where the hell is Cecelia?" Negan asked, crossing the room to tower over the man who was sitting.

Francis shook his head, looking exasperated. "I have no idea. That's why we don't have anything for you."

"Well no shit, Sherlock," Negan hissed back. "Where the hell is she?" he repeated his question again, hoping he'd manage to get the right answer.

"She's been gone a week. I wish I could tell you," Francis explained, standing up to face Negan head on. Negan hadn't ever spoken to the man at such length, so he couldn't tell if he was being bullshitted.

"Yeah fucking right," Negan shot back. "Now, I'd love to sit here all day and argue with you about this, but I've got other fucking shit to do. And I'm not a man who fucking enjoys it when my time gets wasted. So I am going to asked you one more time, give you one more chance, because I'm a reasonable man...before Lucille here takes over. And she's not as understanding as I am." Negan growled, before pausing a moment to look into Francis' eyes. "Where is Cecelia?"

Francis closed his eyes. "You think I'm lying?" He asked, leaning inwards and puffing out his chest. Negan was surprised at his sudden confidence that seemed to have been created overnight. Francis shook his head, turning to walk towards the kitchen. He opened a drawer and took out a folded piece of notebook paper. "Read this."

Negan lowered Lucille off his shoulder, grabbing the scrap paper from Francis' outstretched arm. He recognized Cecelia's writing that he normally saw on the labeled medications, however, it appeared to be written hastily and sloppier than what he was used to seeing.

 _Francis,_

 _When I quit cooking for my professor, I had unfinished business with a man named Sergio Esposito. My professor Collins told me I could quit whenever I wanted, but that's not the case. I managed to avoid them before the world went to shit, especially after Collins told me Sergio died._

 _When I originally went to get supplies with The Saviors a few months ago, we were attacked. I recognized one of the men as someone who used to work for Sergio. They figured out where I lived, and I have reason to believe that they're interested in finally putting an end to all this, to finish what I should have years ago._

 _If you're reading this, I've been taken. I can't promise whether or not I'll ever be back, or where I am. I'll try my best to fight, but this will probably be too big for me to take on alone._

 _If you never see me again, I wanted to let you know that if it weren't for you, I don't think I'd still be alive. You gave my life purpose, and although I know things have been tense between us these past few weeks, I want you to know how important you are to me._

 _Don't waste your time looking for me, I have a feeling it's a lost cause._

 _Thanks again,_

 _Cecelia_

Negan felt his hand tighten it's grip around the letter, clasping it until the paper crumpled and ripped in his hands. He dropped it on the floor and turned to Francis. "What the FUCK?" He hissed. "Why the HELL didn't we know about this sooner?"

"You read the letter, what could you have done?" Francis asked, his voice raised, his hands held up defensively. "Believe me, I wish I could have done something about it but...she never told me she was in trouble. Maybe I coulda helped..." he trailed off, seeming to realize that none of this information was relevant to Negan. "She never told me she was in trouble," he repeated again, shaking his head in frustration.

As much as Negan wanted to take his anger out on the man, he knew Francis was right. And although he'd seen and done some awful things himself, he hadn't been a drug distributor at any point in his life, so he wasn't exactly sure what Cecelia meant by 'unfinished business.'

"You were with her...the day you were attacked...and she didn't say anything?" Francis asked. "I can't think of anything else that might be useful...figuring out where she is."

"I'm pretty fucking sure she'd be more likely to say something to you than me," Negan grumbled, running a hand over the stubble that was growing in after he'd shaved it a few weeks earlier.

"She's not exactly the sharing type," Francis said, laughing bitterly, his fingers pushing his long strawberry-blonde hair out of his eyes. He bent down to pick up the crumpled letter, placing it on the countertop. " _Fuck."_

Negan shook his head, snatching the letter off the counter and turning on his heel to leave the house without a goodbye. His men followed suit, stepping down off the porch and onto the walkway to the road. He'd just lost his cook, and he only had one idea of where to find her.

* * *

 **So...I haven't seen ya'll in awhile. As I mentioned before, life has been pretty hectic this semester, so I took a little break to let the season finale happen so I could decide where I wanted to take this story. I've got a lot of inspiration now, so I'm hoping to be updating more frequently. I'd also like to thank glittergasm for the great review this past week that put some fire under my ass to revisit this story again. I honestly was feeling like it was a lost cause but you definitely gave me a much-needed confidence boost!**

 **If you haven't already, please check out my Poe x OC fic _Something To Believe In_. I also have a Tumblr "from-the-clouds"! I take requests for imagines and have mostly done Star Wars content but I would definitely excepted Walking Dead related ones as well! Give me a follow and send in a request if possible!**

 **Finally, let me know what you think about this chapter! I love feedback, and am excited for this story arc. Give me your thoughts!**


	22. Chapter 22

To her surprise, it took awhile for the men in the compound to relate the explosion back to Cecelia. She stood at the side of the door, her makeshift weapon poised to come at anyone who entered. She only had one shot to get out. Footsteps and echoing voices in the hallway let her know her only chance was fast approaching, so she had to be quick. Based on the way they were walking, Cecelia couldn't tell how many people she was dealing with, either four or five she might have guessed.

As soon as the door swung open, light flooded into the tiny closet she'd been trapped in. Cecelia lept forward, using the broomstick horizontally to knock out the man who entered. She spun the stick around and stepped into the lighted corridor with her spear aimed at the two other men who approached. They had large knives at their sides, but no guns, so she was at an advantage.

"Hands up," she growled, and was a bit surprised when they obeyed. "I can make this very easy for you, if you let me know how the fuck to get out of here."

One of the men who stood in front of her eyes flickered back behind her. Before she could whip around she felt something cool press into her temple. The barrel of a gun, she guessed, and she wasn't interested in taking any chances, even though she might as well be dead.

"Don't move," she recognized the voice faintly, not enough to place it. "Drop the broomstick, Cecelia."

Taking a deep breath, she obeyed, realizing there wasn't much else she could do at this point than to accept fate. She raised her hands, and almost immediately, the men who stood across her moved forward to restrain her.

The man who stepped into view was a familiar face, one she'd expected to see, but maybe not so soon.

"Louis," she said flatly, regarding him. He smirked slightly, pushing a piece of his dark brown hair behind his ear.

"Putting on quite the show, aren't we?" he asked her, crossing his arms. "You didn't need to cause such a fuss. I wasn't going to leave you here forever."

"You left a chemist in a room full of household cleaning supplies and didn't expect anything bad to happen?" Cecelia questioned, trying to maintain as much dignity as possible despite her currently embarrassing predicament, her hands pinned behind her, undoubtedly unkempt and feral-looking after spending hours in a dark closet.

"You've lost a lot of weight," he said, ignoring her former statement, his eyes unreadable as his eyes trailed her up and down, examining her. "Let's get you something to eat. You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Cecelia had no choice but to follow him down the corridor, unable to imagine what awaited her.

* * *

Cecelia stared at the meal of Ramen noodles in front of her, her appetite suddenly gone, her stomach twisted in knots as she sat at a table across from Louis. Her left hand had been cuffed to the metal leg of the table. 'No funny business,' the man who did it had said. Cecelia may have wanted out, but she wasn't that ignorant. She knew it was a lost cause for the moment. They appeared to be in some kind of warehouse, and although it was small, it was still barren and cold. Cecelia spent a long time fixating on the door in the back with an exit sign above it. The light was out, but that didn't mean anything to her. _Escape._ She wasn't a bad runner when she wanted to be.

"I never thought I'd run into you again," Louis said, his arms crossed as he sat from her. He wore a clean pressed white dress shirt, the cuffs rolled up. Cecelia didn't remember much about him, everytime they'd met he'd been in his father's shadow, much less confident and cocky than he appeared now. It was implied he'd take over his father's business, but she didn't expect it to last until after the world went to shit.

"Neither did I," Cecelia said flatly.

"I can't believe our luck. A few months ago my friend John saw you, said you were with some kind of group raiding an abandoned community school not far from here. Can you believe our luck?" Cecelia didn't respond, instead...she thought. She wasn't far away from the community college, which meant she wasn't even that far from Alexandria...or The Saviors. Louis stared at her awhile, scanning her up and down as she stared past him, ignoring the food. "I mean, you have to know why you're here, right?"

Cecelia shook her head. "The last time I was checked, we were finished."

"Nothing is ever finished, Cecelia," he spoke evenly. "Not in this business. You don't get to leave."

Cecelia closed her eyes. "I was a desperate college student. I needed money. Your father never had an issue with me leaving."

"That was before Collins died," Louis cocked his head. Cecelia stared into his dark eyes, ignoring the twist in her gut at the mention of Collins death. Obviously, it was ridiculous to expect him to have survived, especially living in downtown Manhattan. Cecelia would have never made it out if she was there too, it was by chance her and Ari had been traveling to visit her sick mother in West Virginia when things really took a turn for the worse. That was the only reason they survived.

Collins was Cecelia's mentor, the first person who ever believed in her, who saw her as capable and strong and he gave her the only shot she ever had to break out of the cycle of poverty she'd been born into. Sure, they butt heads once they were business partners, but he had always kept her best interests in mind. He wanted to see her succeed. She wouldn't be where she was without him.

"You thought you could get out of it," Louis said. "I'm sorry you were misled. That you couldn't live your little happy life with your husband...what was his name again...something Abrams?"

"Ari," Cecelia responded flatly, she heard the bite in her voice.

"Ah, yes...Ari Abrams, I remember him," Louis chuckled. "Respectable business man..." He trailed off for awhile. "Whatever happened to him?" Cecelia didn't respond, staring at the noodles in front of her, so he used the silence to assume the answer. "Aww...now that's too bad. You seemed like such a cute couple." Nothing in his voice was sincere, it was all laced with sugar, sickeningly sweet. Uncaring. "Although, you know what?...I seem to remember hearing something about him being investigated by the IRS...so maybe Prince Charming wasn't so perf-"

Cecelia's vision clouded with white-hot rage as she lunged forward at him with her free hand, hitting him square in the jaw. It was easy to listen to criticisms of herself, she knew she wasn't perfect...but Ari was another story. She didn't get the satisfaction of seeing his reaction as she was slammed to the ground by one of the men. Her head throbbed.

"Ah, fuck," Louis laughed darkly, Cecelia staring at him from the floor. He rubbed his jaw. "See Cecelia, I was just trying to have a nice conversation with you. But I guess this isn't going to work that way. Get the fuck up and sit down."

Cecelia felt the man whose hand forced her head down release her and she sat back in the chair, using her free hand to pull her hair behind her ear. She hissed as her fingers pressed over a laceration on her forehead, pulling her fingers away to see crimson blood. She blinked, feeling dizzy.

"You're problem is you think you're better then me. But tell me Cecelia, what exactly sets you and I apart? I'd really like to know."

Cecelia spoke through clenched teeth. "A PhD, a conscious. I'm not a criminal-"

He stopped her. "Don't lie to yourself Cecelia. I know what you've done. Don't go fooling yourself into thinking you're innocent."

Images flashed through her forehead but she pushed them away. He was probing her now, into thinking about things she'd kept bottled up for ages. Things she never intended to revisit.

"What do you want from me?" Cecelia asked, her voice raspy and her head throbbing harder.

"Well, as you might guess, I still run my father's business, and I'm on the market for a cook," he said. Cecelia stared hard at his sharp jawline, upset she hadn't done more damage. She hoped he'd at least get a bruise. "So, I heard you were in town and I figured you'd be willing and able."

"I'm not willing," she managed, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm afraid that's no longer your choice. You belong to me now."

"Excuse me?" Cecelia asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"What Collins failed to tell you was that the minute you stepped into that room...at that Christmas Party almost a decade ago, you lost your choice to back out of any deals," Louis stood up, stepping towards her. "You provided a service to us, and I have to say you did a damn good job."

"Who still gives you money? What business can you even run?" she questioned.

"I haven't dealt in anything as fruitless as money in years," Louis said, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants as he stepped slowly forward, pausing in front of her to look down. Cecelia tried to decide whether to look him in the eyes or ignore him, and decided on the latter. "You'd be surprised what you can get a junkie to do if you give them the only thing they want."

Cecelia's gut twisted, of course. He was just exploiting some addicts weakness in order to get by. It was sadistic, exactly like something Sergio would have done. Like father, like son. "How could I have expected anything more from you, you filthy, disgusting-"

Louis lunged at her and Cecelia was on the floor again, her head hitting the same spot, her vision going blurry for a brief second before her eyes focused on Louis polished shoes. "God, I mean...it's like you don't learn anything do you? You don't get it." He couched down. "Unless you learn how to act, this is never going to work."

"This is never going to work," she repeated his owns words, panting as pain seared through her body. "I _promise_ you."

"I promise," Louis began. "That I can make this worse for you."

Cecelia struggled for a moment, struggling to right herself despite the overwhelming dizziness that overcame her. She managed to sit up, backing up against the leg of the aluminum table where her left hand was still restrained. Louis shook his head, turning his back to her, in disbelief. The table was light enough for her to lift up and loop the opposite side of the handcuff underneath, freeing herself. Now she just had to wait for the right moment.

"You can try," she said flatly, and immediately bolted towards the exit. Her head injury took a bit more of a toll than she expected, and the world spun as she ran but she didn't care. This was her only shot, her only chance to get out. Her hand touched the handle and she was yanked back firmly, landing on her butt. One of the larger men who'd been watching over them stood in front of him, and she heard Louis steps behind her.

"Well," he began. "I can't say that I didn't warn you."

* * *

Negan sat in the passenger's seat on the way back to Alexandria, visibly fuming. How the hell could something like that have happened, right under his nose? He was used to small attacks on The Saviors premises, usually thinking nothing of them once they disappeared because groups knew he had the firepower and the people to overpower almost anyone. But whoever this was clearly wasn't afraid.

Unfortunately, he had bigger fish to fry. Something was off in Alexandria. Though there were no visible signs of animosity, people seemed more confident around him, like they had a secret Negan didn't know about. He'd always been so good at picking up on people's insecurities, even back before all this. It was why he'd been such a great salesperson. People bought things from you when if intimidated them enough; it was all about reading the signs. Since the outbreak, he'd only gotten better at noticing this. Something had to be brewing in Alexandria. Maybe some sort of resistance. Negan expected that much from Rick, who even now still pushed his limits. If they were planning something, he had to be prepared. He was experienced with groups rebelling, but none that had the skills and resources Alexandria did. It could be a real threat if it got out of hand.

"Hey, did you hear me?" Simon's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"What?" Negan asked, slightly annoyed. He didn't appreciate being broken out of his reverie, especially when there was important shit happening.

"What are you going to do about our cook?" Simon asked, smacking his gum loudly. One of his hands rested on the base of the steering wheel while his other hung out of the opened window.

He had a lot of questions about the whereabouts of Cecelia, however, knew there wasn't much he could do. As soon as he'd get back, he was planning on sending men out to look around the abandoned community college where they had originally been attacked. Negan doubted they would find anything, but it was worth a shot. If the men had attacked them on foot, it was fair to believe they may be within walking distance, not far away.

"Probably send some people out to look at the place we last saw the men. They can search within a few mile radius, see if there's anything around. Hopefully she'll turn up, preferably alive," He kept his voice even, seeming calm. There was a part of him that was worried about Cecelia...not just as his cook. But he didn't want to let anyone else know that. He figured she could take anything they threw at her. A part of it had made it sound like she wasn't coming back, like she knew something bad was going to happen. That she'd die.

"I'm guessin' she'll be alright. She seems smart enough to get by," Simon said casually. "I always thought it was too bad she wasn't one of us. Maybe if we find her, we can change her mind."

Negan scoffed to himself. Although she did seem to have some sort of strange attraction to him, he knew she'd be too stubborn to ever work for him. "Maybe."

He stared at Cecelia's letter that was crumpled up on the dashboard. Another part of him wondered what she even meant by 'unfinished business.' There was more to her than met the eye, and apparently he didn't know her whole story.

* * *

 **Sorry for the kind-of cliffhanger.**

 **Let me know what you all are thinking! I haven't heard from a lot of you in awhile!**


	23. Chapter 23

Cecelia pushed her dirtied hair out of her eyes and stared down at her work. The past two weeks had been agonizing. Not only was she in pain from the nights of torture, but she was starved, exhausted, and dehydrated. Certainly she could help herself; she could eat, she could drink, but every time food was placed in front of her she lost her appetite. She'd wake up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding and mind reeling after vicious nightmares. Stuck somewhere, her mind was a hazy fog that left her unfocused and confused most of the time. Her current state reminded her of the way she'd felt after Ari died. Nearly suicidal, she'd spent weeks stumbling through the woods, feeling purposeless and confused.

And now she felt the same, though this time it was brought on by exhaustion and frustration. Her life didn't have much purpose if she was still entangled with the enemy. Louis. That was what she'd been trying to flee after all, and now she was back where she'd began all those years ago. She'd spent too many sleepless nights trying to distance herself for her to fall right back to where she was.

Although she looked for ways out, none were viable options. Louis wasn't stupid, he knew what she was capable of and used extra precautions when she was let out of her locked cell. He had already made it clear, multiple times, what would happen if she tried to leave. Things would only get worse. And right now, she needed some time to heal and recollect before she made any rash decisions. If she got out okay, she would be fine, but getting caught trying to escape would be a whole other story. Things could get worse, she had to keep reminding herself, although the bruises covering her face and body were warnings enough.

"Get moving," a gruff voice from behind her stated, and she realized she'd zoned out once more. It was one of Louis' men whose name she never bothered to learn. Louis didn't come around often, she just worked for him to cook whatever drugs he needed that he'd exchange eventually for food. However, he always ensured a guard was standing nearby her to keep her from attempting to escape. This one had been around for the past few days, but Cecelia didn't speak to any of them.

The man shoved her shoulder, knocking the test tube out of her hand and shattering it on the floor. "What the fuck is your problem?" the man raised his voice. "Do I have to call Esposito?"

Cecelia shook her head quickly, managing a quick response. "N-no. You don't." She said quickly as he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. She flinched, closing her eyes, expecting a slap that never came. When it didn't, she opened her eyes and looked at the man, whose eyes were wide in disbelief. He was younger than her, probably early twenties, and all she saw in that moment was a scared little boy. Clearly, this work wasn't suited for him, but a part of Cecelia understood - he was desperate. She was surprised Louis couldn't have caught on.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said stiffly, his voice still harsh to cover up any insecurity. "Clean up the mess and get back to work," he commanded.

Cecelia nodded and he released her. She took a broom from nearby and began to sweep up the broken glass, creating a pile. Carefully, she transferred it into a bag and took it over towards where the man stood, discarding it in the trash can next to him. She turned around, about to head back to work, before she paused. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

The man turned to her, his eyes harsh again, but Cecelia could tell it was a facade. "I'm Caleb."

"Caleb," Cecelia repeated. "I'm sorry about that. I'm just...a little tired. I won't let it happen again," she gave him a weak smile, then bit her lower lip.

She noticed his expression soften for a moment before he hardened again, but nodded. "It's not a problem. Try to get a better sleep tonight."

He was handsome, Cecelia thought, with a sharp bone structure and deep blue eyes, dirty blond hair. He was a pretty boy, she could sense a once-charming nature to him, a cocky confidence that was likely threatened by a more abrasive woman, but completely comfortable with the women who would throw themselves at his feet. She'd met plenty of men like that in her life, and had even pegged Ari as that type of man before she really knew him.

If Cecelia was going to do this, she was going to do it right. Even if it meant kissing someone's ass. Even if it meant her losing a bit of her fire, though, it was already a pile of smoldering ashes after her past few encounters with Louis.

"I will," Cecelia bit her lower lip, thinking of Ari for the first time in awhile. Normally she wouldn't torture herself like this, but it had to do the trick if she wanted to cry. "I just-" she paused, swiping quickly under her eyes. "Louis has me sleeping on a concrete floor, he's been doing...unspeakable things to me and I...I-I can't sleep because I'm so afraid he'll come for me when I least expect it."

Cecelia let the tears fall freely, and while she knew it was all for show, a part of her felt crying was a bit cathartic. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. At this point, she was numb. "God, I'm sorry this is so, so embarrassing." She pressed her lips together.

Caleb looked a bit lost for words, his eyebrows pulling together as he looked upon her with confusion and helplessness. "It'll get better, I'm sure." he said softly.

Bullshit, Cecelia thought, not believing it for a second, but maybe he did. "I hope it does...I just...don't know how much longer I can go on like this."

"Shhh," he said, cutting her off. "Just get back to work."

Cecelia nodded. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to break down in front of you." She acted embarrassed and swiped under her eyes once more, offering him a weak smile.

"It's fine," he said, not making eye contact, and Cecelia could sense the conflict within him. The choice between numbness and humanity. The choice she once had to make herself.

Cecelia turned away from him, the charming smile dropping from her face as she returned to her work station. If she didn't get out of here soon, she would die. Either she would do the deed herself, or Louis would. There had to be a way out, and maybe she would have to make friends, build trust, if that's what it would take.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Cecelia disappeared, and while Negan was concerned, he was unable to focus on his lost cook due to other events. He had to keep an eye on Alexandria, which was more pressing, even though he had sent out scouts to look for her. They were starting at the community college that she'd mentioned in the letter, and working their way out. She couldn't be too far...he just hoped they'd get to her before something bad happened. It annoyed him that he cared so much, and while he tried to justify it with the idea that she was a valuable resource, he knew there was something else. He still couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it was a feeling that best went ignored.

He was sitting in his office, planning, something he rarely did, but had to with the recent rebellious attitude of the Alexandrians, when he heard a knock at his door.

"Come in," He said sternly, sitting up straighter.

Amber, one of his wives stood in the doorway, clad in a tight-fitting black dress. She cowered before him, which he always found fucking dramatic, since he'd never laid a hand on her or forced her into anything she was uncomfortable with. She'd made her choice, and now she had to live with it. "Simon is here to see you."

"Send him in," Negan advised, and she disappeared from the doorway, Simon taking her place.

"Hey, your guys just got back from looking for our cook," Simon said.

"And?" Negan asked.

"They finally found something," he said. "Told him they should come talk to you in more detail once they get settled in and fed."

Negan crossed his arms and leaned back. He liked Simon a lot, Simon was his right hand man, but he was growing annoyed with him tiptoeing around the scouts discovery. "So?" Negan asked. "Did they find her?"

Simon shook his head no. "Unfortunately, they didn't find her..." He paused, unsure of how to reveal the information. "They found another group living inside an abandoned factory about three hours south of here. It's a good distance away from the community college but that explains why we've never stumbled across them until recently. They're far enough away from us to be undiscovered, but close enough to potentially be a threat."

Negan nodded, and Simon continued. "I know we're pulled pretty thin with everything going on in Alexandria. But regardless of whether or not they have Cecelia, I think we need to make a presence. They seem to be thriving pretty well on their own."

Negan smirked slightly, leaning forward. He had an idea of where Simon was going. "And you're thinking we need to get in on that?"

Simon nodded. "If we find our cook, great. If we don't find our cook, we still found a new way to get resources. And we're going to need a hell of a lot of people on our side if our relationship with Alexandria ends badly."

Negan chuckled slightly, glad to hear, for the first time in awhile, something that sounded hopeful. "Damn, Simon. I am so glad someone around here finally decided to step up and make some fuckin' sense."

Simon smiled, but held up his hand to pause him. "I have to confess, we don't know exactly what all we're up against. The scouts don't think it was too heavily secured, but you can never be sure. And if our cook wasn't exaggerating who we're dealing with, we're going to need a lot of men, just to be safe. These are real criminals. Since there's still a lot we don't know, I'd recommend sending some more scouts out as soon as possible to get us some more information. We'll be able to decide in the next few days where to go from there."

Negan nodded, standing up. "Great fuckin' idea. You've done good work, Simon. I knew I could trust you with this one."

Although the information wasn't ideal, he appreciated Simon's ability to look on the bright side. Not only was he practical, but he was able to seize an opportunity and think outside the box. It was a rare thing to come across these days, common sense and ambition. But then again, that was why Simon was where he was. Still alive, even thriving.

Clapping Simon on the shoulder and pulling him close, he smirked. "Just tell me what your scouts find, we'll take steps from there."

Simon smiled, his chest puffing out slightly with confidence. "Will do," he nodded.

With that, Simon dismissed himself, leaving Negan standing alone in his office. Something suddenly dropped in the pit of his stomach. He didn't think he could stand to find Cecelia dead.

* * *

 **I hope this update finds you all well. I know it's a bit short, but I had to set some things up for the coming chapters. Big things are coming soon with this story, so stay tuned!**

 **If you haven't already, take a peek at my Star Wars Poe/OC Fic, "Something to Believe In" and leave it some love if you feel so inclined.**

 **Please, as always, let me know how I am doing!**


	24. Chapter 24

The only thing that kept Cecelia oriented in the small, dank, closet was the small sliver of light that made its way under the crack of the door. Sometimes, it disappeared, darkened, and that was how she could get an idea whether it was night or day.

At this point she hadn't cooked for anyone for what had to be weeks, but she'd lost her concept of time. Occasionally someone would toss some slop in on the floor, but she never ate it, as she feared what was in it. She thought, maybe she could die of starvation and it'd finally be over. That was what she had wanted, right? Ultimately? Her spirit was breaking, and maybe it wasn't the best way to go out. But she'd much rather go out than be forced to live like this forever.

She was bruised and battered, her entire body ached, throbbed. She was sure she had a sprained wrist, a few cracked ribs, but it became hard to pinpoint where the pain was coming from, and what part of her hurt the most. The torture she could handle, it was all physical. But being locked in a dark room for hours was when the mental torture came, and that became harder and harder to bear. She hallucinated, she had nightmares and lucid dreams and everything in between.

One day, the door opened suddenly, and she straightened up from her fetal position in the corner, squinting into the bright light. She saw the silhouette of a man, but didn't recognize his face until her eyes adjusted _. Caleb_.

He tried to keep a straight face when he saw her, but she saw concern flash in his eyes. He really had the worst poker face, could barely fit in with this group of savages, and she saw it in his eyes.

"They told me to fetch you," he said.

Cecelia didn't respond, just stared at him for awhile, finally nodding.

It'd been the first time she tried to put weight on her feet, but as soon as she did, a wave of nausea and dizziness passed over her, and she sunk to the ground, limbs shaking. "Here," he murmured, pulling something from his pocket. "I brought this for you," he murmured. "Don't tell anyone."

It was a wrapped protein bar, something probably from a store, well past its expiration date, but she understood what the gesture meant. Despite this, she refused, reaching up to push it away from her face,

"I know, but it's sealed, it's safe," he said, peeling back the wrapper and taking a bite. "A little stale, but it's good, I promise."

She shook her head again. "I don't want it."

"I know you haven't been eating, you're going to starve soon."

She groaned. "Not interested."

"You're going to die," he insisted.

She nodded. "Exactly."

He leaned away then, a puzzled look on his face, concern stretching across his brows. "Things will get better. Just…. just stop fighting them."

"They won't," she stared directly at him. "I know they won't. I'd rather just die." Her voice was a husky whisper, she hadn't spoken aloud for a while, she barely recognized it.

"Don't talk like that," Caleb frowned. "Your life means something."

Cecelia laughed bitterly. "To who? To your boss because I can do something he can't. That's it."

"That's not true," he murmured. "It means something to me. I want you to survive."

This young kid, this boy, had latched onto her, all because she'd fake cried in front of him a few weeks ago. "You don't know me."

"I know you're a fighter," he said.

"Listen," she began. "You're going to be in just as much shit as I am if they catch you being anything other than awful to me."

"Just eat the fucking protein bar," Caleb quipped back, his tone carrying a convincing amount of confidence and anger.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then lifted a shaky hand to take a bite. He raised one hand and she flinched, maybe the whole thing had been an act. But it smoothed a piece of loose hair behind her ear. Whatever his intentions were, he had completely misread her. But if he was going to give her a break now, maybe he'd give her a break for something bigger down the line. She knew it just depended how much she was willing to give.

* * *

The Saviors were almost sure that they'd found the compound where Cecelia was. It was unchartered territory regardless, so they planned on invading. Perhaps they could find another ally in all of this if they played their cards right, because if the Alexandrians were planning something as they suspected they were, they'd need all the help they could get.

Negan had chosen to stay behind, to man The Sanctuary in case of attack. But he was in close contact with The Saviors as they executed their plan to take over the facility. Most of the time when they invaded a new space, they had a plan for how to go about it.

He'd always believed in big stick ideology, and really, the only time it hadn't worked out well was with Alexandria. Rick the Prick wasn't someone that liked to be fucked with, but Negan believed that if they'd met under different circumstances, they'd probably be friends.

So, the plan was to find the leaders of whatever this group was, have a rational conversation about joining forces. And there was a slim chance they'd refuse, especially considering that there'd be hundreds of armed Saviors to back up whatever Simon was saying. Simon was his right-hand man after all, and Negan had full trust in him to complete this successfully.

If he wasn't successful in getting them to work together, they'd head in guns blazing, raid the camp and get what they needed – hopefully Cecelia was in there somewhere. If not, more food and resources. Either way, it'd work out.

Unfortunately, he was a bit too confident in his plan, and had no idea what was coming.

* * *

Cecelia was once again locked in her closet, the light under the door no longer visible. No one would bother her, at least not for a couple hours. It was cold – freezing. Curled in a fetal position, lying on her side, shivering uncontrollably, her eyes were fighting sleep, burning from being forced open for so long. She finally gave in.

She didn't know how long she was out, but when her eyes snapped open, she knew someone was watching her. Her eyes fell on a figure across from her. Her eyes fought to see more clearly, and the light outside the door was on. But she didn't remember getting a roommate, she would have awakened if someone else was forced inside.

However, when she saw him, she wanted to leap forward into his arms, but as she tried to push herself upwards, she realized with horror she was too weak. She grunted, trying to crawl towards him, but it felt like she was in a dream, moving too slowly to make any progress, the distance between them seemed to grow wider and wide.

"Don't move," he murmured, his voice even and relaxed. In the sliver of light she saw the dark curls that fell in his eyes, unruly as ever. She had always loved letting her fingers tangle into those curls. He was wearing the same outfit from the last time she'd saw him, a burgundy crewneck and faded jeans. His presence alone was reassuring. Maybe this is it. Maybe she finally could join him.

"Is this real?" she asked, and she couldn't tell whether she'd spoken or thought her words.

"It's real," he said. "Everything is going to be okay," she heard him whisper, tenderly. And he moved forward, one hand reaching out to softly stroke the side of her face, leaning in, the ghost of a kiss on her cheek.

"Ari," she said. "Take me with you, please," she begged, her voice cracking as tears crept from her eyes. "Why did you leave me?"

By the time she asked the question, he had vanished, and she was left, fading in and out of consciousness. _It was so cold,_ she thought. Freezing.

It was unclear if any time had passed before what happened next. She heard gunshots, yelling, footsteps running past her makeshift prison cell. The thud of bodies hitting the ground. At first, it was loud, deafening, but then it became more and more muffled. She wondered what could be happening, and briefly considered crying out for help. Cecelia opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried to sit up, then blacked out.

The next few memories she had were hazy. She remembered a blinding light coming from the doorway of her cell. It was warm and white, but she had to squeeze her eyes shut, as they burned in its presence.

She felt a hand on her neck, her head lolling to the side. "She's still got a pulse. We've gotta take her back to the doctor."

Cecelia blacked out then, awaking again to the pain of a needle being injected into her forearm, her stomach lurching, registering the familiar sounds of an engine running and the shakiness of a bumpy road. Her vision was blurred and she couldn't focus on the figure hovering over her.

Then she really blacked out. Maybe it was something they had put in the syringe. After that, she didn't remember anything.

* * *

"What the FUCK?" Negan yelled as he approached the trucks that rolled back into The Sanctuary. Simon exited one, looking slightly pale, ready to face the music. For the past two hours, he'd gotten absolutely no contact from anyone who'd gone on the mission, the last message being from Simon letting him know things had headed in an unexpected direction, and they'd lost several men.

"Things didn't go exactly as planned," Simon put his hands up, on the defense. "I'll explain later, but we need a doctor."

"No fuckin' shit things didn't go as planned," Negan roared as he watched the trucks empty themselves. "I'm not sending for a doctor; these dumbasses can bleed out if they're going to let things get so out of control again. Why didn't I fucking hear from ANYONE?"

Simon cut him off, quickly, a gesture he'd usually rage over, however, what he said stopped Negan in his tracks. "It's not for any of us, it's your cook."

Negan felt his heart skip a beat. "Where the fuck is she?" his voice was low, even. Truth be told, he was surprised they'd even found her. It had been a well-informed guess. Simon gestured towards a smaller car, of which the back doors were open and several Saviors were crowded. "Surprised she even made it out alive," Negan muttered under his breath as he followed Simon.

"She made it out alive, but I don't know if she'll be alive at the end of all this."

The crowd parted for Negan as he peered into the back of the van, but he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw next.

Cecelia was sprawled out in the back of the vehicle, clad in a loose pair of shorts and a flimsy t-shirt, something that wasn't at all appropriate for the colder weather, but that was hardly an issue. She was thin, gaunt, her cheeks and eyes sunken, her skin pale and pasty. He could see blue veins visible through paper thin skin. One of her eyes was a blackened by a mixture of purple and yellow bruises, large cuts and scars visible all over her exposed skin. If it weren't for the shallow rising and falling of her chest, he'd have thought she was a corpse.

And these things were only what he saw at first glance.

"We got her on an IV, she obviously needs fluids. We don't know the extent of the damage, but right now she's unconscious," Simon muttered.

"What the _fuck_ were they doing to her?" He asked, turning away from her, remaining as calm as possible.

"We're not sure, we found her in a maintenance closet."

"Tell me you left the fucking leader alive for me. Someone better fucking be able to answer for this," Negan growled, gesturing back to the car.

"A few men surrendered right away, the leader is a man who goes by Esposito. We got him to surrender too. Everyone else is dead," Simon reassured him.

"All right, you know what the fuck to do with each and every one of them. Get Dwight, have him take care of this," he said, still trying to keep his cool. Someone would pay for this.

* * *

 ** _Hello all, here I am six months later. I lost a lot of inspiration, and started working on a lot of things. I really really am sorry for leaving you all hanging. I can't promise I'll be going back to updating super frequently, but I haven't abandoned this story._**

 ** _Please let me know what you think, thank you for being patient with me!_**


	25. Chapter 25

Cecelia came to, slowly, and then all at once. The first thing she was aware of was the unbearable pain. Every part of her was throbbing, pulsating in waves through her body. Some of the pain was dull, sore. Others were acute, like there was a knife being stabbed through her temples, her ribs. She tried to move, but it felt like she was sinking into the plush bed she was sat in, and it only made her hurt worse.

A panic gripped her around her throat, choking back her sporadic breathing, until she finally processed that she was no longer trapped in the dark utility closet.

Her surroundings looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't remember exactly where she was. Her memory was faded as she tried to remember how she had gotten here, and everything seemed unclear.

She fidgeted again, stretching and flexing her ankles, realizing that something was tied around them. When she tried to bend her knee, it stopped. She'd been restrained. Panic set in as she desperately tried to free herself from the straps, but her left hand was strapped in as well, with an IV placed in her forearm. Her opposite hand was bent, wrapped in a sling around her shoulder, which indicated she must have injured her wrist. Though it hurt to move, she whimper as she tugged and squirmed, but she was locked in tight.

"Jesus Christ," she heard a familiar voice, and her eyes fought to adjust in the dim light. "Calm the fuck down, will you?"

The figure stepped into view, and she let out a sigh of relief when she saw him, surprinsingly so. Negan stood in front of her, clad in a dark flannel and loose fitting jeans that hung low on his hips. His hair was mussed up from it's usually slicked back 'do, it was clearly after dark so he was done working for the day. "Let me go," she said, her breathing erratic. "Please, let me go. I need- I need-," she grew winded then, pausing to catch her breath, the intake of air sending a firestorm through her chest, and he stepped forward towards her.

"Calm down, sweetheart," he said. "Don't hurt yourself." That tone was patronizing, which she expected, but she wasn't really interested in an argument. Her body felt like it was being ripped apart.

Cecelia unfortunately had no fight left over to argue with him. "Please," she begged. "Please let me go."

Her lack of snarky comeback seemed to upset Negan, he frowned at her before pulling back the covers and untying the straps that had held her ankles in place, including the one wrapped around her free wrist. Letting out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding she looked up at him. "What happened? How did I get here?"

"You don't remember?" he asked, sitting on the side of the bed. She was confused as to why he was being so tame towards her. With him here, she felt like she had to be on edge, when all she wanted to do was melt back into the bed she was in and writhe in pain.

 _Where was he?_ The thought echoed in her mind until she realized Negan was awaiting her answer.

"The closet," she said, wincing at the memory. "That's all."

He squinted at her, and in the dim light she could she how drained he looked, the wrinkles and fine lines on his face seeming suddenly deeper than before, dark circles under his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, some bite to his tone.

"You look like shit," she said blankly, her lack of a filter proving time again that she really needed to learn to think before she spoke.

"That's so fucking kind of you to say," he began. "After I spent weeks trying to find you and save your ass."

Cecelia felt her stomach drop. "I didn't mean to offend. You look tired."

"You haven't been around the last few fucking weeks," he murmured. He flippantly stood from the bed, his back towards her. "I wouldn't expect you to fucking comprehend the shitstorm we've had to deal with."

Cecelia flinched, as she hadn't intended to make him upset. Turning to her, his expression softened slightly. The whole exchange rubbed her the wrong way. He didn't seem like his normal, violent self. Normally, had a way of letting you know that nothing you said or did to him would influence him at all, he never lost his composure. But this seemed to be more of a back-stage self she'd never witnessed; relaxed and calm...even slightly vulnerable. It was out of character, but it made Cecelia feel better, especially in her weakened state.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"You tell me," she said, taking in a deep breath, wincing at a sharp pain in her chest. "I don't feel great."

"I'm calling the doctor. Your pain medication must have worn off," he spoke. "You've got some cracked ribs, a sprained wrist. She can tell you more."

His explanation at least gave her an insight as to some of the pain she was in. "Why am I not in the infirmary?"

"Well I don't know if you recall, but the last time you were here you didn't want to be in the fucking infirmary," Negan said sternly, but a smile played on the edges of his lips as he resumed his spot on the edge of the bed.

She looked at him a moment. "I never thought I'd say this, but it's fucking good to see you."

The smile broke fully across his face as he placed one hand next to the opposite side of her body, resting his weight on it. "I told you, I'm not so bad." He paused a moment, studying her face. "It's fucking good to see you, too."

Cecelia was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable urge to embrace him, surprised by his current nature, but mostly thankful. Maybe this urge became apparent to him, as he reached out, a thumb brushing over her cheek affectionately. She flinched, not because of him, but out of habit, and he frowned, pulling away.

 _Goddamn it,_ she thought. _Where the hell was Louis? Was he alive, tormenting someone else? Had he been killed?_ She was hesitant to ask Negan.

"Sorry," she said, focusing on some point across the room from her. "Everything hurts. Any chance I could try some of the painkillers I've cooked for you? Or maybe something to eat"

"I'll call the doctor," Negan stood, and exited the room. She was left alone with her thoughts, finally able to take inventory of herself, wiggling her toes and legs and appendages. Most of the pain was in her core, her arms, neck and shoulders. A large blue shirt hung loosely off her body, with short athletic shorts that draped her emaciated form.

Carefully, she swung a leg off the side of the bed, then the other. Dangling above the floor, she knew the next part was going to be painful as she attempted to sit up straight. The discomfort hit her hard, like a wall that blocked her from any further movement, so she was left hanging off the side of the bed, hissing in pain, regretting this whole plan.

Negan entered the room, finding her in this compromised state. He set down the glass that he was holding with a sigh. "Jesus Christ. Are you already fucking trying to run off?"

"No," she said, her free hand gripping his shoulder after he crossed the room to lift her back into place. "I thought I could try to stand on my own."

"That's not going to happen for a while," he said stiffly, flipping the covers back up so they covered her legs. "You've got cracked ribs and I've never seen so many bruises and bumps on anything other than a corpse."

Furrowing her brow, she glared at him. "I hate this."

"I don't like it either, but you're my cook, I'm not letting you die on me."

Cecelia sighed, watching him retrieve the glass with a straw he'd sat down on the table near his bed. "Just admit you've gone to all this trouble because you like me, not just because I'm your cook."

Negan didn't respond, just regarded her with an unreadable expression before raising the glass to her lips. "Drink this."

Normally she'd argue, give him a hard time but she was hungry and thirsty and needed something. Whatever was in the glass was disguised to taste like juice with sickeningly sweet flavor, but she could taste the vitamins and nutrients. It reminded her of Pedialyte, the disgusting drink meant for children and toddlers she'd nurse all day after a night of heavy drinking. She sucked down about half the glass before finally taking a breather. "That's disgusting."

"Well, it's one step closer to solid fucking food."

Glancing down at the clothes she was wearing, she looked back up at him. "Whose clothes are these?"

"Doctor said you needed to wear something loose-fitting so she could treat you easily, and we didn't have any hospital gowns laying around."

"I'm surprised you didn't just leave me in this bed naked."

Negan leaned away from her, taken aback but smirking slightly. Goddamn, despite the fact that some stubble now covered his cheek, she could still see the dimples that appeared along with his wicked smile. Why did he have to look at her this way? "Wish I'd thought of that," he chuckled, then leaned in. "But if I'm going to see you naked, I'd rather it be because you wanted me too."

Cecelia groaned inwardly, but didn't give him the satisfaction that it annoyed him. "I thought we would have moved past this by now," she said flatly, ignoring the way her stomach twisted at his words.

Before he could respond, the same doctor from before, Elaine, entered the room. Their last encounter hadn't been exactly pleasant, leaving Cecelia a bit on edge currently. Negan stepped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Thankfully, she was spared the small talk as the doctor began explaining immediately what was going on.

"You have three cracked ribs, which is where the majority of your pain will come from. For the next few days, it's best if you avoid as much movement as possible, but we'll want you to get moving regularly after that," she said, reading off a notepad. "You've got a few lacerations that required some stitches, but nothing too severe. I'll be changing the dressing on those tonight. And if you feel like you're developing a fever, let me know because it could be a sign of infection."

Cecelia nodded. "You've also got a sprained wrist, but that should heal in a week or so."

The doctor glanced down at her notes for reference. "The biggest problem I'm concerned about is your weight. You're severely dehydrated and malnourished. For the first few days, we're giving you limited amounts of water and juice, then we'll gradually work up into solid foods."

It all made sense, she supposed, but nothing sounded better right now than a slice of pizza. Even if she _could_ eat something like that, it's not like pizza was easy to come by. Elaine helped her up to go to the bathroom, though it was incredibly tough to walk, and she had to take breaks and slump against a wall or the side of the bed before continuing on. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, feeling a bit more human.

She settled back into the bed and accepted two pills from the doctor for pain management, and she took them both immediately, desperate for some relief. Although, in the half hour or so she'd been conscious, it was becoming second-nature just to tolerate.

When Negan reentered the room after Elaine left, he regarded her with a nod. "Answer your questions?" he asked.

"Some, not all," she said. "I still have a lot." _Like what the hell happened to everyone at the camp I was stuck in._

Negan didn't respond, crossing the room to a dresser he rummaged through, pulling out clothes. "What time is it?" she asked him, looking the opposite direction when he began to undress in front of her and change into the clothes.

"Time to sleep," Negan said. "I have meetings in the morning."

As if him mentioning sleep was a cue, she felt the effects of the pain medications hit her, her mind and body going numb and her eyelids feeling droopy. Turning her head, she spoke without thinking. "Are those pajamas?" she asked, feeling her mouth tug up into a smile.

Negan had changed into a white t-shirt and flannel pants, and she had to cover her mouth with her good hand to stifle a laugh. "What's the issue?" he asked, a twinge of annoyance in his tone.

"I guess I just thought that you'd sleep in your leather jacket and red scarf, that's all," she noted.

"I'm not a fuckin' robot," he said, dissapearing into the bathroom. The sound of him brushing his teeth stopped her from continuing on, until she came to a realization. He exited his bathroom, pulling back the covers to the opposite side of the bed. He was going to be sleeping with her. Of course, she thought, it was his room after all.

"Wait," she began, sitting up quickly, the pain tearing through her sides and core. An uninhibited squeal of discomfort passed her lips, and Negan reached out to her, surprised.

"What's wrong?" he said, unable to hide the genuine concern that had seeped into his voice.

"Nothing," she argued. "I just sat up too quickly."

"You're not supposed to fucking move around like that," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, helping her ease back against the pillows.

"I can't sleep here," she said.

"Why not? You have before."

"Not with you."

Rolling his eyes, Negan shook his head. "Sweetheart, come on. Don't be ridiculous. I'm sleeping in my own fucking bed and I'm not letting you move anywhere else, you're weak enough as it is."

"I'm not weak," she argued, the pain medication now hitting her fully. "I just….it's wrong."

Sighing, he ran his hands through his greying hair. "When's the last time you slept in the same bed as another man?"

"When I was married," she was thankful the icy tone still manifested itself despite her growing incoherency. "I still am."

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought." At first, he sounded irritated, and Cecelia didn't think she had her wits about her enough to get in another argument with him. His tone softened. "Sweetheart, you already know how much I'd like to try something with you. But it'd be a dick move, and I'm not as much of a fucking asshole as you've made me out to be. That's all in your head."

Her eyes narrowed, meeting his own.

"And I can tell you're tired. You need to go the fuck to sleep."

"Is he dead?" she asked Negan finally, looking in his eyes, the question she'd been so terrified to ask all night suddenly bubbling past her lips before she could stop it.

"Who?" he asked, eyes furrowing.

"Louis," she answered. "The man who was keeping me there."

Negan shook his head. "We've got him here. He's not dead but….he's not fucking going anywhere. Most of his men were killed when we raided the compound, there were a few that surrendered."

Cecelia froze, felt the chill pass through her body, shaking her head.

"He'll pay for what he's done," Negan said plainly, and she didn't have to worry about him not keeping that promise. She'd seen it done before.

Her fists were clenched so hard her knuckles turned white, the rage now boiling inside her with the revelation that Louis was still alive. He'd ruined her whole life, now more than just once.

"I want to watch him die," She didn't recognize her own voice, a low growl that startled even Negan.

After a long pause, he responded. "You can, but you need to rest now."

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, they could have been from her outburst - or they could have been from the fact that this man had terrorized her, and she was scared. It wasn't until Negan's hand cupped her jaw that she saw anything other than red.

"I won't let that piece of shit anywhere fucking near you, you hear me?"

Nodding, she narrowed her eyes to catch any tears that threatened to fall. She wasn't going to cry in front of Negan, though he seemed to bring out a vulnerability she'd revealed to next to no one most of her life. It was frustrating, and almost a little liberating.

"Shit, sweetheart," he murmured. "I think I underestimated you."

"Most people do," she answered absentmindedly, her mind drifting to other things. There were a lot of questions that needed to be answered, but she knew now wasn't the time. Truthfully, she was exhausted, the bed was cushy and warm, and the weight of someone next to her - regardless of who it was - was comforting.

"Can I ask you something?" Negan asked. During their conversation, he'd moved close to her, lying on his side with his elbow propping himself up, hovering over her. He smelled of shaving soap and toothpaste. Cecelia gave a curt nod. "Back at Alexandria, why'd you try to lie to me about the fucking bullet?"

Shrugging, Cecelia avoided his eyes. "I thought you'd believe me. And I wasn't interested in watching Rosita get murdered."

"You thought I was going to kill you?"

Cecelia shook her head. "I don't know, maybe. Francis likes Rosita, I don't know if he'd make it if something had happened to her. I've lost everyone who meant anything to me. I don't need to be here."

"Jesus fuck, I didn't expect you to go all suicide note on me," Negan said, and she glanced over at him. Despite the ill-timed joke, her words had clearly upset him.

"It's just the truth," she said flatly. "But I didn't know anything about the bullet, didn't even know Rosita was trying to kill you. I don't think anyone did."

Negan didn't respond immediately, and she realized somewhere during their conversation he'd snuck his free arm across her body, his large hand settling in the curve of her waist. It was tender and reassuring, two words she never thought she'd associate with him.

"Anyways, I'm glad I you saved me," Cecelia responded. "That wasn't exactly the way I wanted to go out."

"Yeah, wouldn't be the best way to go," he was staring at her intently, like his mind wasn't actively process anything he was saying to her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Don't snarl at me," he snapped back, but his expression softened quickly. "Sometimes you just remind me of someone."

"Jesus," Cecelia shriveled away from him. "Don't get all sappy on me, now."

"Well, you're not so bad when your not a pain in my ass," Negan smirked.

"You think _I'm_ a pain in _your_ ass? Cecelia asked. "Then you haven't spent enough time with yourself."

Negan chuckled. "It's nice to have some kind of understanding. It's like talking to a friend."

"Friend is quite a big word to be throwing around so carelessly," Cecelia raised an eyebrow, her free hand toying with the edge of the sheet that surrounded her middle. "I think you're a little tired."

He seemed to get the hint, and she was anxious now to be left alone, already feeling the guilt rise up in her stomach for letting him touch her as he had. Her lack of self-control annoyed her, and while she tried to tell herself she was just starved of affection, it didn't change the fact that she was allowing herself to act on impulse.

He moved away from her without argument, giving her some much-needed space, and she finally let herself settle down against the pillows and get the rest she so desperately required.

* * *

 **Back with an update two months later to remind you I HAVEN'T given up on this story. We're still going, please let me know what ya think!**


	26. Chapter 26

Negan awoke bright and early, momentarily surprised when he realized he wasn't alone in his bed. But when he recognized it was Cecelia, he relaxed again, glancing at her a moment. Slumber had erased the harsh scowl she usually wore on her face, and she looked a lot younger than he was used to.

But then he had to turn away. The IV's and needles poking into her arms, bandages littered across her body, and cast on her arm were all too familiar. When he first met her, she'd been underweight, like mostly anyone these days, but now she was waifish, he cheeks sunken and sallow, the color on her face all but 'd gotten used to seeing it after all the time he'd spent in hospitals, but seeing them on someone he cared about made it much more difficult.

He had to admit, he was getting a little too fucking soft for his own liking. A few days earlier when Cecelia basically admitted she felt like she served no purpose and had no one left had left him with a pang in his gut that didn't go away for awhile. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made her stick compared to everyone else. At first, he thought he was confusing his initial sexual attraction with some sort of strange attachment, but he realized pretty clearly now how fucked he really was.

So like with most intrusive thoughts, he pushed it aside to get ready for the day, careful not to wake her. The doctor had instructed that she needed ample sleep in order to recover, anyhow, and he had a lot of meetings to get to.

In the couple days since Cecelia had arrived at The Sanctuary, she'd made a surprisingly quick recovery. She still wasn't able to walk on her own, and could only drink Pedialyte and eat applesauce, but she was certainly doing better than when she'd been sprawled out in the back of a truck barely clinging to life.

Negan was surprised, as most of her spunk seemed to be gone, she spent her time flipping through a couple books and magazine he had in his bedroom, napping, or staring into space, a concerned look on her face, her hands folded neatly on her lap. When he spoke to her, she didn't really respond, just would give a short response before rolling over and sleeping some more. He couldn't tell if she was being rude or if she was just not feeling like herself.

Truthfully, he had bigger fish to fry, and so he quickly went about getting ready for his day and left the room, Cecelia not even stirring once.

* * *

When Cecelia awoke, she flexed her appendages one by one, registering the dull ache throughout her entire body that gradually was fading day after day. Negan was gone, as she expected, which was a bit of a relief. She needed some time to be human and alone.

But that didn't last long, because she was overcome with the sudden urge to pee. She'd been on an IV for days, drinking Pedialyte and lots of fluids, so she was surprised she didn't have to go much more often. The issue was….so far she had yet to walk on her own. There was no way for her to get a doctor, so she figured she'd try her hand at it herself - it was a new day right?

Big mistake. She wasn't sure if it was her weakness from being malnourished or the fact that she hadn't moved much, but either way, she ended up on her hands and knees next to the bed. Glancing to see if she could somehow get herself out of this situation, she saw movement underneath the crack of Negan's bedroom door.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice cracking from exertion. "Is someone out there?" she asked. "I need help."

She was able to push herself to at least sit up, and watched the door crack open slightly, a pretty blonde woman looking to be a little younger than her poking her head through the door, looking around cautiously. "What do you need?" the woman asked.

"I really need to pee," Cecelia said bluntly. "Can you help me to the bathroom?"

The girl cleared her throat. "Negan doesn't like it when we come into his room without permission."

"I don't see Negan anywhere around here, do you?" Cecelia cocked an eyebrow. This didn't seem to appease the woman, as she stood still, shifting her weight from one foot to another anxiously. "Listen, if he has a problem with it….I'll take the blame. I just really need help."

The woman reluctantly stepped forward. "So you're Cecelia, then?" she asked, approaching cautiously.

"Yeah," Cecelia answered, and she could hear the confusion in her own voice. "Why?"

The woman shook her head. "No reason in particular. He seems to be more patient with you than others, that's all. I'm Amber."

With her help, Cecelia was able to stand on wobbly legs, leaning heavily against her for support as they made their way into the restroom. "Thank you, Amber," she murmured softly. The woman's black cocktail dress didn't go unnoticed.

Cecelia relieved herself before hunching over the bathroom sink to rinse her face off and brush her teeth. A proper shower sounded intoxicating, but she still wasn't strong enough to stand on her own.

"So, you're one of Negan's wives then?" Cecelia gestured towards the black dress Amber wore.

"Uh, yeah," she looked down at her outfit. "Yeah, I am," she could nearly hear the shame in the woman's voice, but she dismissed it.

Cecelia got back into the bed, taking a sip from the juice glass that was sat next to her. It was lukewarm, but tasted refreshing. As Amber was backing away, however, Cecelia perked up.

"So….what do you do all day then? Do you get to go outside?"

Amber seemed startled by the question, but paused in place. "Not really, no. Sometimes, maybe. We read mostly, drink….play cards."

"Really?" Cecelia perked up. "Do you think I could play something with you all? I'm about to go mad sitting here reading this magazine for the 50th time."

"I don't know if that's a good idea…." Amber trailed off. "Like I said, he doesn't really like when we're in his room without permission."

"I'm sure it's not a big deal," Cecelia pressed. "Please? Just one game?" She was surprised at herself for hanging on to this human reaction, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to another woman this long, and sitting inside Negan's room all day was driving her crazy. She was accustomed to a much more active lifestyle, fending for herself.

Amber looked over her shoulder apprehensively. "I suppose so…"

* * *

About an hour later Cecelia found herself sitting cross legged on Negan's bed, two more of his wives, Sherry and Jess, had joined her and Amber, and Cecelia was teaching them to play Euchre. She wasn't really great at it herself, but Ari had taught her a while back and it was definitely more interesting than War or Go Fish.

"Yeah," Sherry sat down the right bower on top of the stack in the middle of them. "That's a game. Ten points, right?" she glanced over at Cecelia, who rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," she huffed. "Beginner's luck."

"Someone want to explain what the hell is going on here?" The three women surrounding Cecelia nearly lept back as Negan's voice cut into the otherwise quiet room. Cecelia stayed put, finding their reactions a little bit dramatic as they all lowered their heads.

He stood in the doorway, clad in his usual jeans and leather jacket, in one hand was Lucille, his beloved baseball bat. Cecelia still didn't understand his obsession with that thing. On his face was a stern expression.

"We're just playing Euchre," she said casually, collecting the cards in her hand and riffle shuffling them effortlessly. It was a trick she'd taught herself when she was bored as a kid.

"I'm pretty sure these women know better than to come into my room when I'm not around," he said flatly. He was clearly exhausted, judging by the look on his face.

"I mean, I don't see the issue, they were keeping me company."

Negan set his jaw, then, and she prepared for some sort of outburst. When he said nothing, simply jerked his head, the women filed out slowly as Negan shut the door behind them, remaining silent.

"You can yell at me now," she said flatly, settling back against the pillows. "Don't take it out on them, Amber helped me to the bathroom earlier and I was the one who asked them to come play cards." She absentmindedly continued to shuffle the deck.

"I'm not going to yell at you," he said flatly. "Actually the fact that you're giving me shit right now must mean you're feeling better."

"Somewhat," Cecelia said. "I still can't walk though, which is getting quite frustrating."

Negan's unreadable expression relaxed then as he smiled slightly. "It'll take some time."

"Anyways," Cecelia looked away absentmindedly. "How's your shit?"

"Shitty," Negan chuckled, then his face fell. "Your friends back at Alexandria are really a pain in the ass."

"They're not exactly people I'd want to fuck with," she said flatly. "How'd you get looped in with them, anyhow?"

"Tried to save them," Negan said. "They don't understand how it works though."

"Save?" Cecelia laughed bitterly, feeling some anger rise in her chest. "Are you so stupid you think that that's what you're doing to these communities? I mean, you're like parasites, sucking the life out of them. You run a dictatorship, you force everyone to bow down to you, you have absolutely no consideration for how things look from the opposite standpoint."

Negan's upper lip curled up, but she cut him off.

"And don't give me shit for telling the truth. You had to know, at some point, that you'd find someone who wasn't afraid to stand up to you. Did you really think you could just do this forever?"

"You ungrateful-" his grip tightened on Lucille.

"I already thanked you for what you did. But you're not going to scare me into shutting the fuck up because you know everything I'm saying is the truth. That's why I'm making you mad. Don't shoot the messenger," she shrugged. It was hard to speak such words when she was basically immobile and lying down, but she managed to be as confident as she could considering her circumstances.

She didn't raise her voice, didn't use a condescending tone. Yeah, she was angry. Not him, necessarily, but at everyone else, everything else she'd experienced. "I know you're too stubborn to listen to anything I'm saying. But I'm just speaking from the opposite side."

Negan didn't respond, just relaxed his grip on the baseball bat and set it on the ground. There was a long pause between them for awhile, somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable silence.

"Lucille," he began. "Was my wife. Before all this. She died right before the outbreak. Cancer." He sat on the edge of the bed. "The reason I like you so much….you remind me of her."

Cecelia was uncomfortable that he was being so candid, especially after she'd just laid into him. She considered cracking a joke to ease the tension but something told her that wouldn't go over well. Instead, she settled on avoiding eye contact.

"I treated her like shit, and she put up with me. I don't understand why," he shook his head. "The difference between the two of you is you don't put up with my shit. You're the only goddamn person who isn't going to lie to me."

Cecelia tilted her head, finally looking at him as he moved closer to her. "You think you're special," she murmured. "But I've known plenty of men like you."

Cecelia thought of her father, who she rarely saw growing up. Yeah, he was a nice man, to her and her siblings, at least, but she'd never forgive him for how he treated her mother. However, she was pulled away from the memory when she felt Negan's hand on her chin, turning her head towards him.

"I couldn't figure out why I needed you so badly until now," he murmured. He was going to kiss her. Cecelia's body betrayed her as it usually did, her cheeks flushing and breath hitching as he leaned close to her. There wasn't any way out of this.

"David," she said flatly, a last ditch effort to distract him, to anger him before he acted. She knew deep down she wanted this, but that didn't make it okay.

Despite her efforts, all the name did was cause him to smirk slightly before he closed the gap between them, his lips surprisingly gentle yet firm upon hers. It was an affectionate kiss. Not a result of unbridled passion or pent up frustration. No, there was a fondness to it she hadn't experienced in years. It was then, she realized, they were both completely screwed.

* * *

 **Hey all, so I have some unfortunate news. I will be putting this story on hiatus until further notice. I had this chapter written up already so I thought I'd share it with you, as it was only fair.**

 **I started out with so many great ideas and momentum to write for this, but the more I have written it and tried to carry it along with the direction of the show, the harder it has gotten.**

 **The show has taken Negan in such an out-of-character, violent route, that I no longer even feel any sort of excitement or interest to write this story any longer. And I know in the comics he is far from being unproblematic, but the show has just been….too much. He is completely unlikeable and unredeemable in my opinion. Of course, I love JDM, he does a great job with what he's given, which says a lot about his acting abilities.**

 **In general, I've been losing interest in the show for quite some time just because of the lazy writing, lack of character development and weak plot. They consistently kill off characters to further the plot of the men in the show….overall, I'm just incredibly disappointed with several of the choices they have made. Since they've left the prison I've basically just been watching to update these stories. But I can't find the motivation anymore.**

 **I have enjoyed writing for this fandom and the love it's shown me. But for now it is time that I take a break and focus on other projects I am more passionate about. I have a Tumblr (from-the-clouds) that I am much more active on, and I have been taking requests for oneshots, writing mostly for the Dunkirk/Star Wars fandoms. I also have a Poe x OC fic on here I haven't updated in awhile that I will get back into writing soon, so I hope you'll follow me at those locations if that's something you are interested in. If not, I am truly sorry, you have no idea how much it pains me to leave this unfinished. Thank you for all your support.**


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